Hcc< 


BANCROFT 

LIBRARY 
•> 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


The  Doctor's  Frog.    p.  42. 


NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE, 


AND  OTHER  STOEIES, 


FOB    CHILDREN 
II 

A  • 


NEW  YORK: 
A.    ROMAN     &    COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS. 

SAN  FRANCISCO: 
417  &  419  MONTGOMERY  STREET. 

1868.  + 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 
A.    EOMAN   &    CO., 

la  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


. 


TJ:?I7BI 

0»* 


TO      S  E  W -A- L  IL. , 

THR   BABY   IN  THE   HOL'SK, 

THIS    BUNDLE    OF    TWIGS    IS    DEDICATED. 

A.WD  THAT  ALL  B0JTDLES  OF  TWIGS   DEDICATED  TO  HHC, 
MAY    BE    AS   HARMLESS, 

THE   PLEASANTEST  WISH   WHICH   HIS   SISTER   CAN   GIVE. 

CLARA  G.  DOLLtVER- 


CONTENTS. 


1.  No  Baby  in  the  House 7 

2.  The  Bundle  of  Twigs 9 

3.  Over  my  Tea-cup 22 

4.  The  Doctor's  Frog 31 

5.  Talking  to  Himself 46 

6.  Johnny  Checkup 49 

7.  Ghee 69 

8.  The  Toy  Balloon 84 

9.  The  Brown  Noses 86 

10.  "ICanWait" 100 

11.  The  First  Boots ". .  118 

12.  Two  Carlos 120 

13.  Tho  Princess  Ethel 134 

14.  The  Dead  Bird  161 

15.  Cross  Christie '162 

16.  The  White  Roses 188 

17.  The  Old  Man  in  the  Ground 199 

18.  Jennie..                                                                        .  217 


NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE, 


NO    BABY    IN    THE    HOUSE. 

No  BABY  in  the  house,  I  know, — 

'Tis  far  too  nice  and  clean; 
No  toys  by  careless  fingers  strewn, 

Upon  the  floors   are  seen. 
No   finger-marks   are  on   the  panes, 

No  scratches   on   the   chairs, 
No   wooden   men   set  up   in   rows, 

Or  marshaled   off  in  pairs; 
No   little   stockings  to   be   darned, 

All  ragged  at  the  toes, 
No  pile   of  mending  to   be   done, 

Made  up   of  baby  clothes; 


NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

No   little  troubles   to  be   soothed, 

No   little  Lands  to   fold, 
No  grimy  fingers  to   be  washed, 
-No   stories  to   be  told; 

No   tender  kisses  to   be   given, 

No  nicknames,  "  Dove,"  and  "  Mouse ;" 

No  merry  frolic  after  tea, — 
No   baby  in  the   house. 


THE    BUNDLE    OF    TWIGS. 

THESE  was  once  a  poor  old  woman 
who  lived  upon  the  border  of  a  great 
forest  called  the  King's  Wood ;  this  forest 
was  full  of  deer  and  all  kinds  of  wild  game, 
and  it  was  to  this  wood  that  the  king 
came  a  hunting;  with  his  gay  clothes,  his 
bright  sword  and  spear,  and.  his  troop  of 
gallant  cavaliers  and  merry  ladies. 

Often  and  often  had  the  old  woman 
stood  at  the  door  of  the  hut,  and  seen  them 
ride  by ;  for  she  had  lived  in  that  place  all 
of  her  life.  When  she  was  a  child  the  gay 
party  had  thought  her  very  fair,  and  had 
thrown  silver  to  her  from  out  their  well- 
filled  pockets;  and  she  remembered  well, 
how,  when  she  was  a  lovely  young  maiden, 

the  whole  train  had  stood  still  before  the 
1* 


10  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

door,  and  she  had  given  to  the  king  a 
drink  of  water. 

But  she  was  an  old  woman  now,  and 
when  they  rode  by  on  their  fine  horses, 
they  did  not  deign  to  notice  her,  standing 
wistfully  by  the  cottage-door. 

True,  they  seldom  came  hunting  now, 
and  it  was  many  a  year  since  the  old  trees 
had  echoed  back  the  chime  of  horns  and 
the  ring  of  laughter;  and  many  a  year 
since  the  gentle  deer  had  been  chased 
down  to  the  death,  and  stained  the  soft, 
green  grass  with  their  blood. 

One  winter  morning,  the  old  woman 
found  that  she  had  no  wood  to  build  her 
fire,  and  she  was  so  cold,  that  she  went 
out  into  the  fair,  snow-wreathed  forest  to 
gather  bits  of  wood,  so  that  she  could 
build  herself  a  fire  and  make  herself  warm. 

Now,  it  was  against  the  king's  laws  for 
any  peasant  to  break  the  boughs,  or  in 


THE   BUNDLE   OF  TWIGS.  H 

x- 

any  way  to  touch  the  trees,  but  they  were 
allowed  to  pick  up  what  wood  was  blown 
to  the  ground  by  the  wind. 

The  snow  was  on  the  ground  that  winter 
morning,  and,  as  the  old  woman  bent  and 
scraped  it  away  with  her  feeble  fingers, 
her  hands  and  feet  became  chilled  by  the 
cold,  and  she  gloomily  thought  of  her  hard 
life,  and  grumbled  because  the  king  com- 
pelled her  to  pick  her  wood  from  the 
ground,  instead  of  the  trees ;  then  she 
grumbled  because  God  had  given  to  the 
king  a  fine  palace,  and  warm  food  and 
clothes,  and  broad  lands,  while  she,  after 
a  long  life  of  labor,  had  to  go  out  into  the 
frosty  air,  and  pick  her  chips  to  keep  her 
from  freezing,  in  her  old  age. 

And  the  more  she  muttered  of  her  hard 
fate,  the  more  she  felt  like  muttering ;  and 
at  last  she  said,  that,  since  God  had  found 
her  to  be  of  no  use,  and  had  never  meant 


12  NO   BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

her  to  be  any  thing  but  a  toiling  earth- 
worm, why  did  He  give  her  life  at  all  ? 
and  why  had  He  not  cut  her  down,  and 
made  room  for  the  useful  of  the  race? 

Then,  with  an  angry  heart,  she  reached 
up  her  hand,  and  broke  off  a  tiny  twig 
from  a  brown  bough. 

She  knew  well  that  it  was  against  the 
law,  but  it  was  very  easy  to  break  off  a 
little  twig ;  so  she  walked  along,  breaking 
off  only  the  crooked  ones,  until  she  had 
quite  a  large  bundle  of  them.  Then  she 
sat  down  under  a  tall  tree  to  rest;  and 
muttered  all  the  time  of  her  weary,  un- 
lovely life. 

Suddenly  there  appeared  before  her  a 
young,  fair-faced  man.  When  she  saw  him, 
she  tried  to  hide  the  twigs  under  her 
apron,  but  he  pulled  it  aside  with  a  smile, 
and  then  asked  her  gravely : 

"  Why  hast  thou  broken  the  twigs  from 


THE  BUNDLE   OF  TWIGS.  13 

the  king's  trees,  when   he   has  forbidden 

itr 

"  I  broke  not  many !"  replied  the  old 
woman. 

"  Ay !"  said  he,  "  but  the  law  does  not 
say,  '  Thou  shalt  break  not  many.' ': 

^The  snow  was  bitter  cold,"  mumbled 
she,  "  and  my  fingers  are  old  and  feeble !" 

"  Ay !"  said  the  young  man,  "  but  the 
law  does  not  say,  < The  young  shall  not 
break  branches  from  the  king's  trees !' ': 

Then  the  old  woman  hung  her  head 
low;  for,  in  all  the  time  she  had  lived  in 
the  forest,  she  had  never  offended  before, 
and  she  felt  deeply  abashed. 

"  I  pray  the  king  may  forgive  me  !"  she 
cried,  "  but  my  heart  was  bitter,  and  the 
cold  struck  deep ;  I  thought  that  I  was  but 
a  dead  branch  upon  the  tree  of  life,  and 
why  did  not  the  Father  lop  me  off  ?  Then 
I  saw  a  dead,  crooked  twig  upon  the  fair 


14:  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

tree,  and  I  plucked  it  with  anger,  and  then, 
as  I  walked  along,  I  saw  many  twigs  which 
were  crooked  and  dead  like  me,  and  I  broke 
them  all  off;  but  I  repent,  and  I  pray  the 
king  may  forgive  me  !" 

"  I  will  see  that  thou  art  forgiven,"  said 
he ;  "  but  what  dost  thou  say  of  being  a 
dead  and  useless  branch,  even  as  a  dead, 
crooked  twig  ?  Thou  art  wrong  there ! 
thou  art  wrong  there ! 

"  Wilt  thou  give  to  me  two  of  the 
twigs?" 

The  old  woman  looked  at  him,  surprised, 
but  gave  him  the  twigs  as  he  wished ; — 
two  very  brown  and  crooked  twigs. 

He  stooped,  and  scraped  away  the  snow 
with  his  hand,  and  dug  two  little  holes, 
put  a  twig  in  each  one  of  them,  and  cov- 
ered them  up  again  with  the  snow. 

"  Next  autumn,"  he  said,  "  the  new  king 
comes  hunting  to  this  forest ;  I  belong  to 


THE  BUNDLE   OP   TWIGS.  15 

his  court,  and  shall  come  too.  Dost  thou 
know  what  tree  this  is?" 

"  Ay !  I  have  played,  walked,  and  rested 
under  its  shade  for  many  a  year ;  it  is  the 
King's  Oak!" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  the  King's  Oak  !  Next 
autumn,  on  the  day  before  the  grand  hunt- 
ing, wilt  thou  come,  at  sunset,  to  this 
spot  ?" 

"  Yes !  yes !"  said  the  old  woman,  "  I 
will  come." 

"  Make  thyself  warm  with  the  twigs," 
said  he,  "  and  do  not  forget !  Farewell !" 

The  old  woman  hobbled  home  to  her 
hut;  and,  when  she  had  built  a  blazing 
fire  of  the  twigs,  and  had  warmed  her 
shivering  skin,  her  heart  warmed  too,  and 
melted  away  that  crust  of  ice  around  it, 
which  is  called  discontent. 

She  remembered  how  many  troubles 
and  vexations  and  dangers  surrounded 


16  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

the  king,  from  which  she  was  exempt ; 
and  she  repented  her  ingratitude  to  the 
dear  Father,  who  had  given  her  so  many 
fair  gifts,  with  so  few  burdens  and  crosses. 

The  snow  melted  from  the  ground,  the 
flowers  bloomed  and  died,  the  grain  was 
sown,  and  ripened,  and  being  gathered, 
when  the  merry  young  king  came  to  hunt 
in  the  forest. 

One  afternoon,  the  old  woman  stood  in 
the  door  of  her  hut,  breathing  the  incense- 
laden  air  that  was  wafted  to  her  door  from 
the  grain-fields,  when  a  wood-cutter  passing 
by  saluted  her,  and  cried  out  :— 

"  "Watch  well  to-morrow,  old  dame,  for 
the  gay  young  king  will  pass  thy  door." 

"Is  to-morrow  the  day  of  the  grand 
hunting?"  she  cried. 

"  Ay !  that  it  is,"  he  returned,  as  he 
strode  away  into  the  rustles  and  shadows 
of  the  great  wood. 


THE  BUNDLE  OF  TWIGS.  17 

"  I  had  forgotten !"  muttered  the  old 
woman,  as  she  seized  her  crutch ;  "  but  there 
is  yet  time !  a  good  hour  yet  before  sun- 
set." 

She  hurried  as  well  as  she  could,  for  it 
was  a  long  walk,  to  the  King's  Oak,  and 
her  limbs  were  getting  stiffer  and  feebler 
every  day;  and  it  was  well  she  did  hasten, 
for  when  she  reached  the  spot  the  sun  had 
lit  his  naming  torch  in  the  West,  as  though 
for  light  to  go  to  bed  by,  and  the  fair-haired 
young  stranger  was  already  there,  waiting. 

He  came  toward  her,  and  greeted  her 
kindly,  saying  :— 

"  I  feared  thou  wouldst  forget,  good  dame, 
or  else  would  fear  to  come." 

"Ay!"  she  answered,  "I  come  near  for- 
getting ;  but  afraid  I  was  not." 

"Dost  thou  remember  the  two  poor, 
dead,  crooked  twigs  which  I  buried  in  the 
ground  and  covered  up  with  snow  ?" 


18  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

"  I  remember  them  well,"     she  replied. 

"  Good  dame,"  said  he,  "  thou  didst  not 
know  that  those  two  twigs,  dead  as  they 
looked,  and  crooked  as  they  were,  had  each 
within  them  a  germ  of  life,  true,  bounding, 
earnest  life,  and  that,  left  upon  the  tree, 
each  of  them,  as  well  as  every  one  thou  hadst 
broken  off,  would  have  put  forth  vigorously 
the  broad  green  leaves  which  make  the 
King's  Wood  beautiful. 

"  And  those  two  poor  bits  that  I  buried; 
— come  here !" 

And  he  showed  her  two  little  oak  trees, 
tiny  yet,  but  strong  and  vigorous. 

"These,"  he  added,  "have  put  forth  that 
germ  of  life  which  was  within  them,  and 
may,  sometime,  be  as  stately  and  venerable 
as  this  oak  under  which  we  stand. 

"  Good  dame,  I  remember  that  you  lik- 
ened yourself  to  a  crooked  and  dead  twig 
upon  the  tree  of  life ;  and  I  would  fain 


THE  BUNDLE   OF  TWIGS.  19 

have  you  understand  that  as  those  had,  un- 
derneath a  poor  exterior,  a  germ  of  life,  so 
you  have  within  you  a  germ  of  life ;  with 
this  difference,  the  life  within  those  crooked 
twigs  was  a  poor  and  perishable  one ; 
whilst  that  within  you  is  glorious  and 
undying." 

"Master,"  said  the  old  dame,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  whoever  thou  art,  thou  speakest 
the  words  of  truth,  and  humbly  from  my 
old  heart  do  I  thank  you." 

"  Say  no  more !"  said  the  young  man, 
"  but  pardon  my  preaching ! 

"  And  now  I  must  hasten  away.  Fare- 
well !" 

The  next  day,  as  the  old  woman  saw  the 
gay  company  go  by  her  but,  she  espied  the 
young  man  with  fair  hair  who  had  talked 
with  her,  riding  upon  a  dashing  white 
steed,  in  a  gay  hunting  jacket,  and  with 
long  snow-white  plumes  waving  over  his 


"    20  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

cap  ;  and  when  he  saw  her  he  smiled  kindly 
upon  her. 

The  next  day  a  serving-man  from  the 
castle  brought  to  the  old  woman  a  hand- 
some knit-purse  full  of  silver  pieces ;  and 
the  serving  man  said  that  his  master  bade 
him  say,  "  that  the  preacher  sent  it  to  her." 

"  And  what  is  thy  master's  name  ?"  said 
the  old  dame. 

"  Dost  not  thou  know  ?"  said  the  serving- 
man,  laughing  loudly  at  her.  "  His  name  is 
Henry,  and  he  is  called  by  some,  the 
King." 

"  What !"  cried  the  old  woman,  "  did  he 
ride  yester-morn  on  a  fair,  white  horse,  at 
the  head  of  all  the  train  ? 7) 

"That  he  did,  of  a  certainty!"  answered 
the  man. 

"  Heaven  help  me  !"  she  muttered,  "  and 
I  a-talking  to  him  so  free." 

When  the  next  winter  came  she  looked 


THE  BUNDLE  OF  TWIGS.  21 

almost  lovingly  upon  the  brown  bare 
boughs,  and  the  wood-cutters  laughed  to 
themselves  when  they  heard  her  mutter, — 

"  There 's  a  germ  of  life  in  every  one !  in 
every  one !" 

They  did  not  understand  it,  at  alL 

But  she  did. 


T317 

c  > 


OVER    MY    TEA-CUP. 

I  WAS  alone ;  so  I  made  for  myself  a  cup 
of  tea,  and,  after  creaming  and  sugaring  it 
to  my  taste,  sat  down  to  enjoy  it. 

In  fact,  I  had  finished  the  first  cup,  and 
commenced  the  second,  when  I  leaned  back 
in  my  cosy  rocking-chair,  took  a  little  com- 
fort quietly  for  a  little  while,  and  straight- 
ened up  again  for  another  sip,  when  I  be- 
held, seated  upon  the  edge  of  the  cup,  a 
small,  dark  creature,  whose  almond-eyes, 
long  queue,  and  general  celestial  appear- 
ance, proclaimed  him  to  be  a  native  of  the 
Flowery  Land,  otherwise  known  as  China. 

As  I  gazed  in  utter  astonishment  upon 
this  remarkable  individual,  with  my  eyes 
and  mouth  gaping  open,  he  made  a  polite 


OVER  MY  TEA-CUP.  23 

bow,  smiled  graciously,  and  made  the 
original  remark, — 

"  Pleasant  evening,  Miss." 

Now,  had  I  possessed  the  usual  com- 
mand over  my  tongue,  I  should  certainly 
have  informed  my  most  charming,  but  un- 
expected visitor,  that  it  was  raining  then, 
and  it  would  probably  continue  to  rain  all 
night ;  but,  as  I  could  not  collect  my  ideas 
very  rapidly,  I  simply  continued  staring  at 
him,  without  uttering  a  syllable. 

Probably  thinking  that  I  was  waiting 
for  ceremony,  my  little  friend  introduced 
himself: — 

"  I  am  the  King  of  Tea." 

"  The  King,"  I  ejaculated,  in  broken  ac- 
cents, "  the  King  of— of— Tea  ?" 

He  bowed,  smilingly.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
"  you  are  quite  right — of  Tea." 

"  King !"  said  I,  under  my  breath. 

"  Tea  is  very  nice,"  he  said,  with  the  air 


24  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

of  one  communicating  valuable  informa- 
tion, "  and,  all !  ahein !  it  comes  from  Chi- 
na— Celestial  China." 

"  Perhaps—"  faltered  I. 

"  Oh !  certainly,  certainly,  with  unmiti- 
gated pleasure — I  will  tell  you  all  about  it 
— all  that  you  can  wish,  Miss — all  that  you 
can  wish." 

I  was  going  to  beg  of  him  to  keep  his 

feet  out  of  my  tea,  where  lie  kept  splashing 

-  them  all  the  time,  but  he  was  in  such  a 

hurry  to  answer,  that  he  would  not  give 

me  time  to  correct  him. 

"  The  Tea  plant,"  he  began,  pompously, 
"  is  of  the  same  family  of  plants  as  the 
Camellia,  and  came,  originally,  from  China 
—Celestial  China !" 

«  But — "  I  interrupted — for  I  did  want 
to  save  my  cup  of  tea,  which  was  really 
excellent — 
,  "  Oh,  nonsense !"  said  he,  quickly,  "  that 


OVER  MY  TEA-CUP.  25 

story  of  the  Japanese,  about  our  getting  it 
originally  from  them, — that  is  a  base  false- 
hood.    It  was   first  found  in  the   central 
provinces  of  China — Celestial  China." 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I,  "  but  you 


are—" 


"  Digressing  ?  I  know  it,"  he  said. 

I  had  hoped  that  here  was  a  chance  for 
me  to  get  in  my  entreaty,  but  no,  he  would 
not  listen. 

"  The  plant  is  bushy,"  he  continued, 
"  and  grows  to  be  about  four  feet  high, 
bearing  white  flowers." 

"  Ugh !"  I  ejaculated,  for  just  then  he 
rubbed  his  feet  together,  and  splashed 
them,  as  though  he  was  bathing. 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  not  at  all — not  at  all," 
he  said,  politely ;  "  I  am  never  tired.  Let 
me  see ;  I  was  telling  you  how  those  Ara- 
bian travelers,  who  ran  through  our  land 

some   ten   or   eleven  hundred   years   ago, 
2 


26  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

praised  up  TEA.  But  what  they  said  is 
counted  as  nothing,  when  we  read  the 
works  of  the  great  and  illustrious  Lo  Yu, 
one  of  our  writers,  who  flourished  a  few 
hundred  years  before  them,  and  who  paid 
a  tribute  to  the  virtue  of  tea,  which  will 
render  his  name  immortal  as  long  as  the 
Chinese  language  is  spoken." 

"  Was  it  introduced  into  Europe  for 
washing  ?"  I  asked,  intending  to  be  ironi- 
cal. 

"  What !"  said  the  king — "  introduced 
into  Europe  by  Washington  ?  No,  no, 
Miss !  it  was  introduced  by  the  Portuguese, 
in  1520.  They  declared  it  would  cure  all 
diseases,  and  so  it  will — almost." 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  I,  giving  up  that  cup 
of  tea  as  hopeless,  and  quite  ashamed  to 
make  any  further  fuss  about  it, — "  may  I 
ask  whose  method  we  use  in  preparing 
our  tea  ?" 


OVER  MY   TEA-CUP.  27 

"  Preparing  our  tea  ?  Our  neighbors,  the 
Japanese,  pound  their  tea  into  a  powder," 
was  the  not  very  satisfactory  reply  of  my 
little  friend,  "  while  the  Persians  boil  it 
until  it  is  very  black." 

"  And  we  ?"  I  inquired. 

"You?"  he  answered — "why!  you  use 
a  great  deal  of  tea — really,  quite  a  fine 
amount.  England,  too,  does  very  well. 
I  remember  the  time,  only  two  or  three 
hundred  years  ago,  when  fifteen  hundred 
pounds  was  enough  to  glut  the  market. 
But  they're  improving — they're  improv- 
ing!" 

"  So  the  Persians  boil  it  until  it  is 
black  2"  said  I,  trying  to  lead  him  back  to 
his  remark  about  methods  of  preparing 
the  drink. 

"  Black  2"  said  the  King  of  Tea—"  black, 
really,  has  a  better  effect  upon  the  -nervous 
system  than  green.  To  tell  you  the  honest 


28  NO   BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

truth,  green  tea  is  very  much  adulterated ; 
besides,  it  is  dried  on  copper  platters,  so  it 
may  have  a  good  color,  and  so  its  effect  on 
the  nerves  is  bad — very  bad.  Tea  is  very 
much  fixed  up  before  it  gets  to  you,  any- 
how. There  is  one  kind,  which  we,  our- 
selves, call  Lie  Tea,  because  it  is  made  of 
tea-dust,  stuck  together  with  starch." 

Here  my  little  friend  grinned  broadly  at 
the  way  they  cheated  the  innocent  and 
honest  tea-drinkers. 

"We  have  another  way,  too,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  of  making  our  valuable  export  pay 
us  well.  We  pick  up  leaves  which  have 
been  boiled  once,  dry  them  carefully,  mix  a 
little  fresh  tea  with  them,  and,  lo  !  our  big 
pockets  fill  with  gold." 

"  I  should  think,"  said  I,  "  that  the  tast- 
ers would  detect  the  cheat." 

"  So  they  do,  so  they  do !"  returned  the 
King, "  but  the  tasters  die  off  rapidly — luck- 


OYER   MY   TEA-CUP.  39 

ily  for  us.  Paralysis  and  head-ache  attack 
them,  and  we  fear  them  but  little,  very 
little." 

Here  he  kicked  up  his  heels  so,  that  the 
tea  splashed  right  over  the  edge  of  the 
cup. 

"  Pshaw  !"  said  I,  out  of  patience,  "  how 
long  will  this  last?" 

"  Last  !"  said  he,  very  graciously,  "  oh  ! 
the  tea-plant  usually  lasts  from  ten  to  twelve 
years  ;  we  get  four  crops  a  year,  too,  so  that 
is  very  well.  There  are  two  kinds  of 
plants — hill  and  garden  plants." 

"  Which  are  the  best  ?"  I  edged  in. 

"The  very  best  tea  in  the  world  we  keep 
for  ourselves,"  he  answered,  "  but  the  best 
kind  you  ever  get  is  the  Pearl  or  Gun- 
powder tea.  Oolong  and  Souchong  are 
good,  though !  yes,  excellent,  in  fact.  The 
very  meanest  kind  is  Tioanikay? 

"This,"  said  he,  smelling  of  my  nice  cup, 


30  NO  BABY  IX   THE   HOUSE. 

which  he  had  spoiled  by  his  ugly  little 
feet, — "  This  is  mere  T.wankay  /" 

With  that  he  wisely  slipped  off  from  the 
cup,  and  disappeared. 

"TwankayF  said  I,  indignantly,  "  I  know 
that  this  is  the  very  best  Bohea." 

But  then,  I  was  only  dreaming. 


THE    DOCTOR'S   FROG. 

NEVER  mind  his  name ;  everybody  called 
him  "  The  Doctor,"  and  nobody  knew  if  he 
had  any  other  name  or  not,  and,  moreover, 
nobody  cared;  at  least  little  Bo-peep  didn't, 
and  she  was  the  most  important  member 
of  his  family,  next  to  the  Frog. 

Frogs,  as  a  general  thing,  are  uninterest- 
ing creatures ;  they  croak  in  the  evenings, 
and  we  let  them ;  but  apart  from  their 
croaking,  we,  ourselves,  care  nothing  about 
them ;  to  be  sure  Monsieur  says  that  they 
are  excellent  eating,  and  taste  for  all  the 
world  like  chicken,  but  that,  compliment 
though  it  may  be,  can  not  make  them 
interesting  as  individuals. 

But  the  Doctor's  Frog  was  an  exception ; 


32  NO  BABY   IN  THE   HOUSE. 

the  Doctor's  Frog  was  an  honor  and  an 
ornament  to  his  class,  and  the  Doctor  was 
proud  of  him. 

My  Frog,  sir !"  he  used  to  say,  with  a 
magnificent  little  nourish;  and  then  the 
gentleman  or  lady  would  edge  up,  and 
look,  and  edge  off  again ;  for  people,  as  a 
general  thing,  do  not  like  to  see  frogs 
disporting  themselves  in  the  parlors  of 
their  friends. 

The  Doctor  was  old,  but  he  was  the 
youngest  kind  of  a  baby  compared  with  the 
Frog ;  then,  the  dear  old  Doctor  had  wrin- 
kles on  his  forehead,  and  many  more  white 
hairs  in  his  dear  old  head  than  black ;  he 
stooped  now,  too,  and  his  voice  had  a 
crack  in  it  somewhere;  but  his  Frog, 
though  he  was  as  old  as  the  Flood,  was  as 
gay  and  lively  as  the  youngest  croaker 
about. 

Don't  laugh  now,  because  I  say  as  old 


THE  DOCTOR'S  FROG.  33 

as  the  Flood,  for  I  mean  it;  you  have 
heard,  perhaps,  about  frogs  being  found  in 
great  blocks  of  marble  in  which  there  was 
no  crack  nor  fissure  by  means  of  which 
they  might  have  got  in ;  when  the  stone  is 
broken,  and  the  fresh  air  revives  the 
prisoner  inside,  he  stretches  just  one  leg, 
and  then  the  other,  and,  with  one  gushing 
croak  of  joy,  hops  off  after  a  drink  of 
water. 

This  is  the  history  of  the  Doctor's  Frog 
up  to  the  time  my  part  of  the  story 
commences. 

So,  it  can  be  said  with  truth,  you  see, 
that  the  Frog  was  as  old  as  the  Flood ;  for 
he  must  have  jumped  into  the  stone  when 
it  was  soft,  in  order  to  be  there  at  all ;  and 
it  was  soft,  probably,  on  or  about  the  time 
of  the  Flood. 

Any  way,  the  stone  which  had  held  him 

so  closely  for  so  long  a  time,  was  broken 
2* 


34  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

at  last,  and  the  Frog  rolled  out ;  the  Doctor 
chanced  to  be  there,  so  picking  it  up  with 
his  thumb  and  finger  by  one  leg, — for  he 
hated  them  as  a  class, — he  vowed  that  this 
Frog  should  be  his;  and  as  nobody  else 
wanted  it,  it  became  his. 

The  Doctor,  therefore,  had  two  pets  now ; 
for  he  had  one  before, — Little  Bo-peep. 

The  way  this  little  lady  came  to  be  the 
Doctor's  pet,  was  this;  it  was  a  February 
morning, — a  morning  just  dropped  out  of 
Heaven,  it  seemed,  so  beautiful  was  it !  for 
the  Doctor,  you  must  know,  lived  in  San 
Francisco,  and  in  San  Francisco  there  is  no 
snow,  no  slush,  no  cold  in  February; 
nothing  but  sweet  air,  sunny  skies,  and 
green,  springing  life,  with  occasional  showers 
to  keep  us  from  being  too  happy  ;  and  this 
particular  February  morning  was  the  very 
balmiest  and  most  lovely  morning  imagin- 
able. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  FROG.  35 

The  Doctor, — I  am  sorry  to  record  this 
of  him,  but  the  truth  must  come  out,  sooner 
or  later, — the  Doctor  was  not  a  lark  in  any 
respect  whatever;  larks,  as  I  understand 
them,  are  distinguished  by  two  things, — a 
great  talent  for  singing,  and  an  uncomforta- 
ble habit  of  getting  up  very  early  in  the 
morning.  Now  the  dear  Doctor  could  whistle 
"  Yankee  Doodle,"  but  he  could  not  get  up 
in  the  morning ;  at  least,  he  always  said  he 
could  not,  but  I  have  my  doubts,  whether 
he  ever  tried.  Well,  on  this  February 
morning,  he  was  slumbering  the  balmy 
hours  away,  and  was  dreaming,  perhaps, 
of  his  many  patients  who  could  not  sleep  at 
all,  when  something  woke  him  up;  this 
something  was  a  little  baby-voice  singing 
the  sweetest  kind  of  a  little  baby  song. 

At  first,  it  mingled  with  the  Doctor's 
dreams;  then  he  became  conscious  that 
there  was  a  sweet  reality  about  it  somehow, 


36  NO  BABY  IN   THE   HOUSE. 

and,  by  a  violent  effort,  lie  opened  his  eyes ; 
he  looked  all  around  the  room,  but  he 
could  see  no  baby ;  he  listened,  and  still  he 
heard  the  singing,  so  he  looked  around 
again,  and  pinched  himself  to  see  if  he  was 
dreaming ;  he  pinched  a  little  harder  than 
was  necessary,  and  that  convinced  him  that 
he  was  not  dreaming,  but  still  he  could  not 
see  the  baby,  although  he  still  could  hear 
the  singing.  * 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  he,  too  lazy  to  get  up, 
"  I  guess  I'll  wait,  and  see  if  the  mystery 
won't  explain  itself." 

So  it  did  pretty  soon ;  one  of  the  long 
French  windows  in  the  Doctor's  room  was 
open;  and  pretty  soon  the  singing  grew 
nearer  and  nearer,  until  the  little  singer 
herself  came  up  and  "peeked  in"  at  the 
window ;  the  Doctor  saw  her,  and  he  was 
excited  instantly. 

"  Halloo !  little  Bo-peep,!"  he  cried  out. 


THE   DOCTOR'S  FROG.  37 

His  voice  was  rough  and  deep,  but  child- 
ren could  always  hear  the  heart  which  was 
ringing  and  sounding  through  its  gruffness ; 
and  the  little  singer  heard  it  too,  for  she 
trotted  in,  and  stood  there  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  just  as  pretty  as  a  picture. 

She  was  two  years  old,  perhaps,  and 
babies  of  two  years  are  always  pretty  and 
sweet;  except  when  they  are  sick,  and 
Bo-peep  wasn't  sick.  She  didn't  have  any 
thing  on  but  her  nightgown  and  one  little 
sock ;  her  hair  was  in  the  delightfulest  curly 
tangle  possible,  and  her  blue  eyes  were 
wide  open ;  her  two  plump  arms  were  as 
pink  as  a  sea-shell,  and  the  dimples  in 
them,  and  in  her  cheeks,  were  as  deep  as 
could  be.  Talk  about  pictures — the  Doc- 
tor never  had  seen  a  picture  in  his  life 
half  so  lovely  as  this  living  one  which 
stood  before  him  on  that  balmy  February 
morning. 


38  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE 

"  Where  did  she  come  from  ?"  he  thought 
to  himself;  "  somebody  will  put  it  in  the 
papers  to-morrow — '  Lost,  a  little  singing 
angel  in  a  nightgown  and  one  sock.7  r 

They  made  friends  right  away.  The 
Doctor  called  her  "  little  Bo-peep,"  and  she 
liked  the  name ;  he  wrapped  her  up,  and 
put  her  on  the  bed;  then  he  hunted  for 
something  to  give  her  to  play  with,  and 
could  find  nothing  but  a  candy  cat,  which 
had  been  given  to  him  by  one  of  his  ad- 
miring little  patients,  and  a  great  medicine 
book,  full  of  ugly  pictures  of  skeletons, 
and  of  eyes  without  any  faces,  and  faces 
without  any  eyes. 

But  Bo-peep  liked  it ;  she  liked  it  so 
much  in  fact,  that  she  tore  out  one  leaf 
which  had  a  very  large  skeleton  on  it ;  and 
the  Doctor,  for  all  he  couldn't  buy  another 
one  in  all  California,  kissed  her,  and  said, 
"Bless  her  heart!" 


THE   DOCTOR'S  FROG.  39 

She  ate  up  the  candy-cat,  and  insisted  so 
upon  the  Doctor's  swallowing  one  leg,  that 
he  was  obliged  to  do  so,  although  he  de- 
tested candy,  and  knew  it  would  make  his 
teeth  ache. 

By  and  by  a  ring  came  at  the  door-bell, 
and  a  lady,  looking  very  much  frightened 
and  distressed,  wanted  to  know  if  he  had 
seen  any  thing  of  a  little  child;  a  lady  across 
the  street  had  told  her  that  a  child  had 
gone  into  the  Doctor's  garden  that  morning, 
and  she  wanted  to  know  if  it  was  her  child. 
"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  he,  re- 
gretfully, and  then  he  showed  her  Bo-peep, 
with  her  little  unsocked  foot  sticking  out 
from  the  Doctor's  wrappings,  and  her  dear 
deep  dimples  filled  up  to  the  brim  with 
candy. 

And  then  her  mother,  between  laughing 
and  crying,  told  the  Doctor  how  she  had 
left  her  sound  asleep,  and  gone  to  the  mar- 


40  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

ket ;  and  how  she  came  back  and  found 
her  dearie  gone ;  and  then  the  dear  old 
fellow  questioned  her,  and  found  out  that 
she  was  very,  very  poor ;  that  her  husband 
was  dead,  and  that  Bo-peep  was  the  last 
one  of  a  flock  of  little  ones  who  had  sur- 
rounded her  hearth ;  the  more  he  talked 
with  her,  the  more  be  liked  her,  and  the 
upshot  of  it  was,  that  she  brought  her 
scanty  possessions  to  his  house  the  next  day, 
and  entered  upon  her  duties  as  his  house- 
keeper. 

"  What  is  this  little  midget's  name  ?"  he 
inquired  that  first  evening,  as  Mrs.  Burnett 
rocked  the  baby  to  sleep,  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

"Well,"  she  replied,  "she  hasn't  any 
name,  really ;  1  have  always  called  her 
baby,  but  I  did  think  of  having  her  bap- 
tized Hannah,  after  my  sister,  but  I  never 
have  attended  to  it." 

"I  will  give  you  any  amount  you  may 


THE  DOCTOR'S  FROG.  41 

name,  that  is,  any  amount  in  reason — to  let 
me  name  her,  and  have  her  baptized,"  said 
the  Doctor,  beating  one  fore-finger  upon  the 
other. 

Of  course,  Mrs.  Burnett  said,  "  name  her 
by  all  means,"  and  laughed  at  the  idea  of 
his  paying  her  for  it.  So  she  was  bap- 
tized a  day  or  two  afterward,  and  her  legal 
name,  then,  was  Bo-peep  Burnett. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Straightback, "  if  that 
ain't  the  most  barbarous  and  on-Christian- 
like  name  I  ever  heered  !"  But  the  Doctor, 
the  mother,  and  the  baby  were  satisfied. 
So  I  don't  know  that  Mrs.  Straightback's 
protest  affected  anybody. 

Bo-peep  loved  the  Doctor,  and  every  thing 
which  belonged  to  the  Doctor,  up  to  the  time 
that  the  Frog  came  on  the  stage,  but  the 
Frog  she  did  not  like  a  bit. 

The  Doctor  kept  the  Frog  in  the  back 
yard,  except  when  he  wanted  to  display 


42  NO  BABY  1ST  THE    HOUSE. 

it  to  visitors,  when  he  took  him  into  the 
parlor.  Well,  early  in  the  morning,  Bo-peep 
would  roll  out  of  her  crib,  grab  both  of  her 
shoes,  and  standing  on  the  very  tip  of  her 
rosy  little  toes,  she  would  lean  out  of  her 
window,  which  was  usually  open,  and  throw 
both  shoes  out  at  poor  Mr.  Frog  with  all 
her  baby  might. 

In  vain  the  Doctor  tried  to  frown,  in 
vain  Mrs.  Burnett  scolded ;  still,  she  perse- 
vered, to  the  great  damage  of  her  shoes,  if 
not  of  the  Frog.  At  last,  Mrs.  Burnett 
declared  that  she  would  whip  her — whip 
little  Bo-peep,  who  had  hardly  ever  been 
scolded  in  her  life,  much  less  whipped ;  so 
little  did  she  know  of  it,  in  fact,  that  she 
thought  her  mother  was  playing  with  her, 
•  and  so  laughed  and  chuckled,  until  her 
mother  could  no  longer  make  believe  whip, 
but  had  to  hug  her,  and  chuckle  too. 

Then  she  did,  what  she  might  as  well 


THE  DOCTOR'S  FROG  43 

have  done  in  the  first  place ;  she  put  the 
window  down,  and  locked  it. 

But  the  angry  feelings  which  existed  on 
Bo-peep's  part  toward  the  Frog  did  not 
cease,  by  any  means ;  the  Frog  bore  no 
malice,  I  am  sure,  but  it  would  have  taken 
a  nature  really  angelic  to  have  forgiven 
wholly  the  treatment  which  he  received 
from  her. 

One  night  it  rained  hard,  and  the  next 
morning  the  Frog  was  gone.  Bo-peep 
made  no  secret  of  her  delight,  and  had 
not  the  least  sympathy  for  the  regret  of 
the  Doctor.  There  was  a  vacant  lot  next 
door  to  the  Doctor's  house,  and,  it  being  a 
little  lower  than  the  land  about,  whenever 
it  rained,  there  would  be  a  little  pond  in 
it ;  down  to  this  pond  little  Bo-peep  wan- 
dered the  day  after  the  Frog  disappeared. 

As  she  played  and  sung  by  herself,  she 
saw  suddenly  her  old  enemy  placidly  sun- 


44  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

ning  himself  among  the  grass  and  weeds ; 
she  had  no  pity  on  him,  or  on  the  Doctor, 
but,  seizing  a  thick  stick,  she  began  pelting 
him  so  industriously  and  vigorously,  that 
he  was  glad  to  get  away  without  broken 
bones. 

The  next  night  the  Doctor  heard  him 
croak;  and  such  croaks!  they  could  be 
heard,  I  am  sure,  at  least  two  blocks  away. 
The  day  after,  the  Doctor  hunted  for  his 
Frog,  but  in  vain — he  never  saw  him  nor 
heard  him  again ;  that  loud,  sonorous  croak- 
ing was  his  parting  serenade. 

No  one  ever  knew  whither  he  had  gone, 
nor  why ;  but  one  of  the  Doctor's  scientific 
friends  suggested  that  he  had  become  dis- 
gusted with  this  age  of  the  world,  aod  had 
jumped  into  another  soft  stone,  for  another 
thousand  years'  sleep. 

Perhaps  it  was  so;  but  little  Bo-peep 
knew  why  he  had  become  disgusted  so 


THE  DOCTOR'S  FROG.  45 

soon,  for  she  knew  all  about  how  his 
peaceful  mid-day  nap  was  disturbed  with 
a  big  stick;  but  the  dear  old  Doctor 
never  knew. 


TALKING   TO   HIMSELF. 

HE  was  a  child  of  dreams, — their  boy; 

His  soft  hair,  shaded  brown, 
The  summer  suns  had  never  scorched, 

Nor  round  cheeks'  baby  down. 
His  play-room  was  his  little  world, — 

His  toys — his  worldly  pelf;        % 
And  as  for  playmates,  why,  the  child 

Talked  all  day  to  himself. 

No   stranger  would  have   dreamed  there 
was 

A  child  in  all  the  house ; 
For  not  a  sound  was  heard  from  him. 

He  was  a  very  mouse, 
So  small,  so  slender,  lithe,  and  still ; 

A  sober  little  elf, 
They  said; — a  precious,  darling  child, 

Who  played  all  by  himself. 


TALKING  TO  HIMSELF.  4.7 

Quiet  now  is  the  great  grim  house ; 

Twas  always  quiet  before; — • 
His  little  toys  are  piled  with  care 

Upon  the  play -room  floor; — 
But  he  never  strewed  them  all  about, 

As  most  of  children  do ; — 
For,  oh  !  't  was  not  alone  he  played, — 

Angels  were  playing  too. 

Now   do   we   listen   for   the  voice, 

That   we   can  hear  no    more; 
For  murmurs   low,  and  whispers  sweet, 

In  passing  his   play-room  door, 
Oh  when  they  told  me  all  they  did, 

They  said   what"  was   not   true; — 
He  was   not  talking   to   himself, 

'Twas  angels  he  was  talking  to. 

Tears, — most  sad   and   tender  tears, 
Blind   now  our  brimming  eyes ; 

Such  as  are  wrung  from  fond,  fond  hearts, 
When   the   household   baby    dies. 


48  NO  BABY   IN   THE   HOUSE. 

And  angels,  ye  who  talked  with  him, 

And  pleaded  him   to   go, 
Ye  did  not, — ah!   ye   could  not  know 

That   we   did  love  him   so. 

A  white  sweet  face,  a  cold,  cold  form ; — 

Hands   folded   on   the   breast, 
As  though  the  tender  dove   of  Peace 

Had   nestled   there   to   rest; — 
And  this  is   all   now  left  to   us, 

This  tiny   thing  like   snow ! 
Oh,  had  we  thought, — if  we  had  known — 

But,  ah !  we  did  not  know. 


JOHNNY    CHECKUP. 

THE  rain  fell  on  the  roof  outside  with  a 
gentle  dipple,  dipple,  and  Johnny  Check- 
up fell  on  the  floor  inside  with  a  great 
"bohoo,  bohoo." 

He  did  not  hurt  himself  in  the  least,  but 
when  a  little  fellow  is  in  the  habit  of 
getting  lumps  of  white  sugar  for  a  little, 
tiny  cut,  and  five  cents  for  black- and-blue 
spots,  and  a  big  piece  of  pound-cake  is  his 
price  for  extracting  splinters,  he  is  apt  to 
cry  out  "  bohoo,  bohoo  !"  when  he  tumbles 
down  on  his  mother's  soft  Brussels  carpets. 

"  Poor,  poor  little  Johnny  !"  said  sympa- 
thizing Miss  Bella,  putting  down  her 
worsted  work,  "  come  here !  dear  love,  come 
to  sister  Bella,  come  I"  Johnny  put  his 
hand  up  over  his  eyes,  pretending  to  rub 

3 

UT 

IVE: 


50  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

away  tears  which  were  never  there,  and 
still  whimpering,  came  up  and  put  his 
chubby  cheek  on  sister  Bella's  shoulder. 
He  tried  hard  to  squeeze  two  tears  into  his 
eyes,  but  somehow,  although,  when  he  did 
not  want  to  cry,  he  had  tears  enough  and  to 
spare,  now,  just  when  he  wanted  to  cry, 
those  tears  just  stayed  behind  the  lids,  and 
laughed  at  him,  may  be. 

If  Bella  noticed  it,  she  did  not  seem  to 
mind  it,  but  just  put  her  arm  around  his 
shoulder,  kissed  the  other  cheek,  and  said, 
"  Poor  Johnny !" 

"  Bella,"  said  he,  "  tell  me  a  story." 

Bella  looked  at  her  worsted  work;  it 
was  coining  Christinas,  and  those  slippers 
must  be  finished  for  Papa  Checkup,  for 
Santa  Glaus  does  not  bring  grown-up  folks 
presents,  as  we  poor  grown-up  folks  know 
to  our  cost. 

She  took  them  up. 


JOHNNY  CHECKUP.  51 

"Johnny,  I  must  work  on  papa's  slip- 
pers this  evening,  for  in — let  me  see — yes, 
in  two  weeks  from  to-morrow,  Christmas 
comes.  You  would  not  like  to  have  poor 
papa  lose  his  present,  just  for  your  story ; 
would  you,  now  ?" 

Johnny  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  bright 
worsted ;  he  did  not  want  to  be  "  mean 
and  stingy,"  but  he  did  want  a  story,  and 
sister  Bella  could  tell  such  nice  stories. 
A  bright  thought  struck  him. 

"  Why,  Bella !  why  can't  you  work  and 
talk  too  ?  You  might  tell  me  a  story,  and 
be  working  on  papa's  present  all  the 
time." 

"  No,"  said  Bella,  shaking  her  head,  "  I 
could  not  do  that." 

"  Why  ?"  said  he ;  "I  think  you  might. 
You  don't  push  your  needle  through  with 
your  tongue,  do  you?" 

"  No,"  she  answered,  smiling,  "  I  don't 


52  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

do  that,  but,  if  I  talk  to  you,  I  shall  forget 
to  count  the  stitches;  and  then,  may  be, 
poor  sister  would  have  to  take  out  a  lot 
of  her  work — it  would  be  all  wrong." 

"  No,  you  wouldn't  neither ;"  and  he  be- 
gan to  whimper  again  as  he  said  this. 

"  I  just  think  you  're  real  mean,  Bella 
Checkup.  I  don't  like  you  a  bit,  any 
more — not  a  single  bit."  And  he  whim- 
pered louder. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  naughty,  Johnny  ? 
Sister  tells  you  so  many  nice  'stories,  and 
takes  you  out  to  walk,  and  does  so  many 
things  for  you,  and  now  you  don't  love 
her.  Very  well,  Master  Johnny,  very 
well" 

Johnny  kept  up  his  whimpering. 

"  I  shall  tell  Santa  Glaus  about  you," 
continued  Bella,  "  when  he  comes  whisk- 
ing down  the  chimney,  with  his  big  fur 
cloak,  and  his  funny  red  hat,  and  his  great 


JOHNNY   CHECKUP.  53 

big  bag  of  lovely  toys.  He'll  poke  his 
funny  red  hat  out  first,  and  peer  all  around, 
to  see  if  there  are  any  little  boys  or  girls 
in  the  room;  and  if  he  doesn't  see  any,  he 
will  say,  in  a  loud  whisper,  *  Miss  Bella, 
Miss  Bella,  has  Johnny  been  a  good  boy 
this  year?'" 

"And  what '11  you  tell  him?"  asked 
Johnny,  with  big  eyes. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  his  sister,  "perhaps — 
I  shall  tell  him  you  have  been  a  bad  boy." 

"  All  right  for  you.  Miss !"  howled  he, — 
"  all  right  for  you,  if  you  do  !  I  shall  just 
sit  up,  and  tell  him  it 's  no  such  thing." 

"  But  he  will  not  come  down,  if  you  sit 
up,"  she  answered. 

"I'll  get  behind  the  sofa,  then,  so  he 
can't  see  me,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Oh  !  but  he  will  peer  around,  and  see 
you  there,  and  then  he  will  whisk  up  the 
chimney  again,  and  skip  down  Eddy 


54:  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

Harper's,  without  leaving  any  thing  for 
you." 

"  Why  ?"  said  Johnny,  "  why  will  he  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  why,"  said  Bella,  "  only 
I  know  he  won't  come  down  if  he  sees  any 
children  in  the  room  at  all.  He  hugs  his 
bags  of  presents  tight  to  keep  from  drop- 
ping any,  and  up  he  runs." 

"  May  be  he's  bashful,"  suggested  Johnny. 

"  May  be,"  answered  Bella. 

Pretty  soon  the  little  rascal  nestled  up 
to  busy  Miss  Bella,  and  pressed  a  pair  of 
soft  cherry  lips  to  her  neck,  saying,  "  I  do 
love  you  a  million  dollars.  I  won't  never 
be  bad  no  more;  let's  be  good  friends, 
Bella." 

The  kiss  was  so  sweet,  the  repentance 
so  sincere,  that  Bella's  heart  smote  her. 
And  so  she  put  down  her  work,  put  both 
arms  around  the  dear  sinner,  and  hugged 
him  until  he  fairly  squealed. 


JOHNNY  CHECKUP.  55 

"Now,  let's  have  a  little  chat  about 
Santa  Glaus,"  he  coaxed. 

She  looked  at  the  slipper  with  a  sigh. 
A  thought  struck  her. 

"  When  I  have  worked  this  row  out  to 
the  end,  I  will.  Now,  go  and  play  very 
quietly,  and  I'll  call  you  when  I  am 
ready." 

You  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop  in  that 
room  for  about  a  minute ;  then  a  subdued 
inquiry  came  from  the  corner  : — 

"  Is  it  most  done  now  T  Then  a  shake 
of  the  head  followed,  and  another  minute 
of  silence;  then, — 

"  Say,  Bella,  how  many  stitches  more  T 

"  About  a  dozen,  I  guess,"  was  the  cheery 
answer. 

In  another  minute,  down  went  the 
slipper,  and  up  came  Johnny  Checkup,  on 
Miss  Bella's  knee. 

"  What  will  Santa  Glaus  say,  when  he 


56  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

sticks  his  head  out?"  said  the  young 
gentleman,  eagerly. 

"He  '11  say :  < Miss  Bella,  Miss  Bella  !  has 
Johnny  been  a  good. boy  this  year?'  Then 
I  '11  say,- 

"  '  Oh,  yes !  Santa  Glaus,  he 's  been  such  a 
good  boy ! '  Then  Santa  Glaus  will  say — 

" '  Well !  here 's  a  good  many  toys  for  a 
little  boy  by  that  name,  who  has  been  very 
good.' 

"Then  he'll  pull  out  his  beautiful  can- 
dies, and  nuts,  and  lovely  toys,  and  he  and 
I  will  stuff  your  stocking  full.  Then  he  '11 
say,— 

"  <  Well,  Miss  Bella,  good-bye !  Got  a  lot 
of  chimneys  to  go  down  yet,  else  I'd  stop 
longer. 

" '  Quite  a  relief  it  is  to  come  down  your 
chimney,  'cause  it 's  so  nice  and  broad,  and 
got  an  open  grate. 

' l  Some  are  narrow — horribly  narrow — 


JOHNNY   CHECKUP.  57 

oloak's  nearly  ruined  squeezing  'em;  then 
they  have  a  stove,  and  forget  to  put  the 
damper  down  for  me.  Very  bad  thing 
Miss  Bella,  very  bad  thing. 

"  '  Good-bye,   now,   good-bye  !' 

"And  with  that,"  continued  Bella,  "he 
will  pull  off  his  funny  red  cap,  clap  it  on 
again  with  a  jerk,  and  go  flying  up  the 
chimney  so  fast  that  the  soot  will  not  have 
time  to  stir." 

Johnny  laughed ! 

"  What  will  he  bring  for  bad  boys,  this 
Christmas  ?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"  Oh  !"  answered  Bella,  "  I  guess  he 
brings  old  cracked  cups,  and  burnt  candy, 
and  bitter  nuts." 

"  Oh,  yes !"  said  Johnny,  "  and  busted 
whistles,  may  be,  and  wormy  raisins  and 
broken  kites." 

Then,  after  a  pause,— 

"What  do  you  think  he  will  have  for 


58  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

me,  Bella?  I  haven't  been  bad,  you 
know. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  sister, 
"  what  would  you  like  ?" 

"I  think  I  would  just  like  a  steam-en- 
gine, and.  a  cat,  and  a  fiddle — " 

"  And  the  cow  jumping  over  the  moon  ?" 
added  Bella. 

"  ~No  I  pooh  !  no  !  and — ,  a — truly  pop- 
gun, and  lots  of  nuts  and  candy.  Mixed 
candy  's  very  nice,"  he  suggested. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  this  is  all  ?"  inquired 
Bella,  merrily. 

"  Yes — and  something  for  Lizzie  Sawyer," 
answered  Johnny,  gravely. 

"  Oh,  no !  no,  indeed  1"  said  the  young 
lady. 

"  Lizzie  will  get  something  in  her  own 
stocking,  but  not  in  yours." 

"  Say,  Bella !"  he  said,  "  won't  you  tell 
me  a  story  now  ?  I  know  you  will,  be- 


JOHNNY   CHECKUP.  59 

cause  you're  the  bestest  girl,  in  this  whole 
city.  Ah,  yes!  please  do!  Now,  won't 
you  ?" 

"Well,   I   don't  know,   sir;  what   will 
you  give  me  for  a  nice  story  ?" 

"  Five  kisses  !"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"Well!  very  well!  it  is  a  bargain,"  said 
she  ;  one — counted  she,  two, — three, — 
four, — make  this  a  good  big  one, — five— 
and  one  to  grow  on." 

Johnny  Checkup  was  used  to  this  put- 
ting on  an  extra,  and  bore  it  very  calmly. 

"  What  is  the  story  about?"  he  asked,  all 
attention. 

"  Let  me  see,"  she  replied,  "  let  me  see, 
— I'll  tell  you  about — 

THE  LITTLE  BOY  WHO   CRIED   FOE  THE   MOON. 

"  Once  there  was  a  little  boy,  whose  name 
was  Teddy. 

"  He  was  a  boy  who  had  his  own  way, 


(JO  NO  BABT   IN   THE   HOUSE. 

usually,  much  more  than  was  good  for  him ; 
he  liked  it  though,  all  the  same. 

"  When  he  wanted  any  thing,  he  cried  for 
it,  and  he  knew  from  experience,  that  to 
cry  for  it,  was  the  way  to  get  it. 

"  Once  he  went  on  a  visit  to  his  grand- 
mother. She  was  delighted  to  have  him 
come,  and  was  so  kind  to  him,  that  he 
could  not  help  but  be  happy. 

"  One  evening,  as  he  was  standing  by  the 
window,  he  caught  sight  of  the  moon,  mov- 
ing slowly  along  among  the  stars. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  he  did  ? 

"  He  asked  his  grandmother  to  get  it  for 
him,  and  when  she  told  him  she  would  if 
she  could,  but  that  she  could  not,  it  was 
so  very,  very  far  away,  then  Master 
Teddy  began  to  scream  and  bawl,  spicing 
his  screams  with — <  I  want  it !  I  will  have 
it ! !  You  just  give  it  to  me  now  ! ! !'  " 

"He  must   have   been  a   little  noodle, 


JOHNNY  CHECKUP.  61 

any-how,"  interrupted  Johnny  contemptu- 
ously. 

"  Perhaps,"  continued  Bella.  "  But  his 
grandmother  did  not  like  to  see  him  cry- 
ing, so  she  said  kindly,  *  Don't  cry,  Teddy, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  nice  piece  of  ginger- 
bread/ 

"  But  Teddy,  who  thought  it  was  quite 
smart  of  him  to  cry  for  the  moon,  kept  on 
crying;  thinking  perhaps,  that  by  that 
means,  he  would  get  two  pieces  of  ginger- 
bread. 

"  After  awhile,  however,  his  grand-moth- 
er lost  all  patience,  and  became  very  angry. 

"  Then  she  took  him  by  the  hand,  gave 
him  a  good  scolding,  and  sent  him  off  to 
bed  without  any  supper,  or  any  kind  kisses." 

"  And  it  was  just  good  for  him,"  said 
Johnny. 

"So,"  continued  Miss  Bella,  "he  got 
neither  the  moon,  nor  the  gingerbread ;  and, 


62  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

besides,  was  sent  to  bed  an  hour  before  bed- 
time. 

"  After  he  got  to  sleep,  he  dreamed  of  a 
great  sea  made  of  moons,  and  filled  with 
islands  made  of  great  hunks  of  gingerbread." 

"That's  a  bully  story!"  said  Master 
Checkup,  whose  language  was  not  always 
suited  to  the  drawing-room.  "  Tell  it  again, 
Bella." 

"  Oh  !  dear  me  !"  she  said, "  I  can  not,  you 
scamp ;  oh !  truly,  I  can't  tell  it  over 


again." 


"  Aw  !"  said  Johnny,  "  do.  Do  please, 
nice,  sweet,  beautiful  Bella !  I'll  give  you 
five  more  kisses,  if  you  will ;  won't  you  ? 
Now,  Bella,  say  you  will ;  yes — now." 

Bella  shook  her  head,  saying,  "  No,  sir," 
very  firmly.  "  But,"  she  added,  "  for  eight 
and  one  over,  I  will  tell  you  another  story." 

"  All  right,  madam !"  was  the  reply. 
"  Here's  one,  four,  two,  five,  eight !" 


JOHNNY  CHECKUP.  63 

Ob  !  what  counting,"  said  Bella,  squeez- 
ing him. 

"  Now  begin,"  said  he,  eagerly. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  this  is  a  story  about 
— let  me  see — well — about 

SCAMPER. 

"  Once  there  was  a  boy,  a  dear,  sweet 
duck  of  a  boy,  whose  name  was  Ernie. 

"  His  name  in  reality  was  Ernest,  but 
everybody  loved  him  so  well,  that  they 
thought  Ernest  was  too  cold  for  their  warm 
hearts,  and  so  called  him  Ernie,  for  love. 

"  His  father  was  a  rich  man,  and  so  he 
bought  his  dear  boy  a  pony,  and  after  con- 
sulting with  papa,  mamma,  all  the  aunts  and 
uncles,  and  all  his  friends,  big  and  little,  Er- 
nie decided  to  name  Mr.  Pony — Scamper. 

"  Scamper  was  a  very  good  name  for  him, 
too,  for  he  used  to  scamper,  as  often  as  he 
got  a  chance. 


64:  NO  BABY  IN   THE  HOUSE. 

"  Master  Ernie  learned  to  ride  this  Scam- 
per, after  awhile,  and  many  merry  times 

he  had  with  him. 
\ 

"But  the  boy's  mother  was  always  a 
little  anxious  when  she  saw  them  cantering 
out  of  the  gate,  and  always  her  last  words 
were : — 

" '  Now,  love,  do  be  careful !' 

"  He  would  always  reply  :— 

" t  Oh  !  yes,  indeed  mamma,  I  will  be  very 
careful,'  and  I  suppose  he  did  mean  to  be 
careful,  but  it  is  pretty  hard  sometimes  for 
boys  to  remember;  and  once  or  twice, 
Master  Ernie  found  himself  riding  very 
much  faster  than  was  prudent." 

The  door  opened,  and  Mamma  Checkup's 
face   appeared;  Mamma    Checkup's   voice 
was  heard,  saying  : — 
*    "  Johnny,  love,  it  is  seven  o'clock." 

Johnny  knew  well  enough  that  seven 
o'clock  meant  bedtime,  and  he  was  reluct- 


JOHNNY  CHECKUP  65 

antly  sliding  himself  off  Bella's  lap,  when 
that  dear  sister  interceded. 

"  He  wants  to  hear  the  rest  of  this  little 
story,  mamma ;  it's  very  short — " 

"  Well !"  said  she,  "  five  minutes  more, 
then;"  and  the  round  face  of  dear  Mamma 
Checkup  disappeared  from  the  doorway. 

"  One  day,"  continued  Bella,  "  Ernie  was 
racing  down  William  Street  as  fast  as 
Scamper  could  make  his  feet  fly,  without 
thinking  at  all  of  his  dear  mamma's  en- 
treaties to  be  careful. 

"  A  boy  who  saw  them  coming,  ran  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  street,  throwing  up 
his  cap  in  the  air,  and  crying  out,  i  Whoa !' 

"  And  Scamper  did  'Whoa !'  but  he  did  it 
altogether  too  quickly,  for  off  went  his 
poor  little  master,  on  to  the  hard  paving- 
stones. 

"  He  did  not  move  or  stir,  and  the  boy 
who  had  unintentionally  caused  the  mis- 


66  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

chief,  and  all  the  people  who  came  running 
up,  thought  he  never  would  move  or  stir 
any  more. 

"  Scamper  thought  so  too,  perhaps,  for  he 
went  up,  and  looked  at  the  little  boy  with 
such  a  piteous  look,  and  put  his  nose 
against  his  cheek,  as  much  as  to  say, — 

" l  Nay,  nay,  little  master,  don't  give  up  so/ 

"  I  think  the  pony  would  have  cried  if 
he  could. 

"  But  Ernie  was  only  stunned  and  injured, 
— not  dead. 

"  He  was  taken  home  very  tenderly,  and 
for  many  weeks  he  was  very  ill ;  which  is 
not  at  all  nice,  you  know,  for  then  you 
have  to  take  such  bitter,  bitter,  medicine." 

"  Yes,"  said  Johnny  Checkup,  "  I  know." 

"When  Ernie's  papa  came  home,  and 
was  told  how  dreadfully  his  dear  little  boy 
was  hurt,  he  declared  that  Scamper  must 
be  sold. 


JOHNNY  CHECKUP.  67 

"  Sold  lie  certainly  would  have  been,  had 
not  all  the  aunts  and  uncles  interceded 
for  him,  for  they  knew  how  disappointed 
their  little  darling  would  be,  when  he  was 
well,  to  find  his  Scamper  gone. 

"  The  very  first  day  that  he  was  carried 
down  stairs  in  papa's  strong  arms,  he  put 
his  mouth  to  his  ear,  and  whispered  : — 

" i  Take  me  to  the  stable,  please/ 

"  Papa  said  never  a  word,  but  he  walked 
straight  to  the  stable,  straight  to  Scamper's 
stall,  where  Scamper  was  eating  his  break- 
fast. 

"  The  pony  looked  up  from  his  breakfast 
when  he  heard  footsteps,  and  as  he  saw 
Ernie,  he  neighed,  in  a  short,  quick  way, 
his  joy  at  seeing  him. 

"  Then  Ernie  put  his  thin,  weak  arms 
around  Scamper's  neck,  and  hugged  him, 
saying,  very  tenderly, — 

"  '  It  was  n't  your  fault,  dear,  dear  Scam- 


68  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

% 

per,  not  your  fault  at  all.  Myself  was  to 
blame,  and  nobody  else.' 

"  Then  Scamper  neighed  again  cheerily,  as 
much  as  to  say, — 

"  '  All  right,  dear  little  master,  all  right.' 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  Bella,  "  that  you  have 
got  a  tear  way  down  in  your  eye ;  but 
never  mind,  Ernie's  papa  had  two  in  his, 
and  after  his  boy  got  well,  he  gave  Mr. 
Scamper  a  splendid  silver-mounted  bridle." 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  Mamma 
Checkup's  round  face  declared  that  the 
five  minutes  had  expired ;  so  Bella  kissed 
Johnny  a  loving  good  night,  and  off  he 
went  to  dream  of  Santa  Glaus,  truly 
pop-guns,  gingerbread,  slippers,  and  ponies, 
in  a  wonderful  and  delightful  confusion. 


. 

CHEE. 

"MA,"  said  little  Miranda  Gager,  one 
morning,  "  may  I  stay  at  home  to-day  ?" 

"  No,  Miranda,"  said  Mrs.  Gager. 

Then  Miranda  cried,  and  thought  that 
her  mother  wasn't  nice. 

Very  few  little  girls,  perhaps,  would 
have  thought  Mrs.  Gager  a  very  nice 
mother;  for  she  was  not  a  bit  indulgent. 
She  would  not  allow  Miranda  to  chew 
gum  nor  eat  candy ;  she  would  not  allow 
her  to  stay  at  home,  or  be  dismissed  from 
school ;  she  would  not  let  her  wear  the 
gold  watch  Uncle  Joe  gave  her,  nor  did 
she  ever  give  her  a  birthday  party. 

On  the  other  hand,  very  few  mothers, 
indeed,  would  have  thought  that  Miranda 


70         .          NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

was  a  nice  little  girl;  for  she  would  not 
study  her  lessons,  and  she  would  whisper ; 
she  boasted  that  her  father  was  rich ;  and 
she  could  not  keep  her  temper.  Worse  than 
all,  she  was  always  trying  to  plague  Gussie 
and  Chee. 

"  Miranda,"  said  Mrs.  Gager,  sternly, 
"are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself?  You 
are  lucky  in  being  able  to  go  to  school  at 
all;  think  of  Gussie,  how  glad  he  would 
be  if  he  could  go  to  school  as  you  do." 

"Oh,  dear!"  sobbed  Miranda,  "I  wish 
I  had  been  and  broke  both  my  legs,  like 
Gussie,  and  get  everybody  to  pity  me,  and 
be  so  good  to  me,  as  everybody  is  to  him. 
I  wish—" 

"  Miranda,"  said  her  mother,  "  you  will 
go  now  to  your  own  room,  and  remain 
there  until  school-time." 

"  I  hain't  had  no  breakfast !"  howled 
Miranda. 


GHEE.  Yl 

"  Your  breakfast  will  be  sent  to  you," 
answered  her  mother. 

Then  Miranda  cried  louder  than  ever, 
for  she  knew  that  she  would  have  nothing 
but  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  sent  to  her 
room,  and  she,  like  many  other  little  girls, 
liked  coffee  and  cakes  much  better. 

As  she  went  crying  up  stairs,  she  met 
Chee,  bringing  Gussie  down  in  his  arms. 

Chee  was  the  Chinese  servant,  whose 
sole  duty  was  to  take  care  of  Gussie.  He 
was  a  tall,  brown-cheeked,  almond-eyed, 
pig-tailed,  blue-robed  young  fellow,  strong 
as  a  giant,  and  as  gentle  as  a  child.  He 
loved  little  Gussie,  and  Gnssie  loved  him ; 
but  Miranda  and  Chee  were  sworn  ene- 
mies. 

"What's  the  matter,  Kanny?"  said 
sweet-voiced,  patient  Gussie. 

Miranda  told  her  story,  and  Gussie  said, 
"  Too  bad,  Kanny  1"  But  he  knew  that  her 


72  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

story  was  not  all  the  story,  so  he  did  not 
attempt  to  intercede  for  her.  So  Miranda 
breakfasted  on  bread  and  milk,  and  went 
to  school  at  half-past  eight. 

Chee  rolled  Gussie  in  his  carriage  until 
the  sun  got  up  high  in  the  heavens,  and 
the  winds  began  to  rise ;  for,  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, it  is  delightful  in  the  forenoon,  and 
exceedingly  windy,  dusty,  and  unpleasant 
in  the  afternoon. 

After  he  came  home,  Gussie  took  a 
nap,  and  while  he  was  asleep,  Mrs.  Gager 
sent  Chee  on  an  errand ;  Chinese  servants 
are  well  known  to  be  exceedingly  dis- 
honest, but  Chee  had  lived  in  the  family 
a  year,  and  Mrs.  Gager  fully  trusted 
him. 

"  Here,  Chee,"  she  said,  giving  him  twen- 
ty dollars  in  gold,  "  I  want  you  to  go, 
while  Gussie  is  asleep,  and  get  my  cloak 
and  dress  for  me  from  Mrs.  Cumming's. 


CHEE.  73 

Just  give  her  the  money,  and  tell  her  I 
sent  it ;  that 's  all,  and  hurry  back." 

Chee  went,  but  he  did  not  hurry  back ; 
Gussie  woke  up,  and  inquired  for  him, 
waited  patiently,  and  inquired  again,  wait- 
ed and  watched ;  but  Chee,  faithless  Chee, 
did  not  return. 

Mrs.  Gager  sent  to  the  dressmaker's  to 
see  if  he  had  been  there  at  all,  and  found 
that  he  had,  and  that  he  had  taken  away 
the  dresses,  but  said  nothing  about  any 
money  ;  the  conclusion  was  inevitable,  that 
Chee  was  a  thief. 

Everybody  thought  so  but  Gussie;  in 
face  of  all  the  facts,  he  declared  his  faith  in 
his  old  friend,  and  would  not  believe  that 
Chee  was  any  thing  but  a  good,  faithful,  and 
honest,  but  unfortunate,  Chinaman. 

He  persisted  in  this  belief,  after  weeks 
had  passed.  Another  servant  was  procured 
to  take  care  of  him,  yet  still  he  clung  to  the 


74  NO   BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

memory  of  Chee,  and  declared  that  he 
would  yet  come  back,  and  clear  his  clouded 
character. 

Poor  little  patient,  sweet-faced  Gussie 
Gager  was  getting  nearer  every  day  to  that 
city  where  all  things  are  made  clear,  and 
he  knew  it ;  he  knew  long  ago  that  he 
could  not  live  to  be  a  man  ;  he  knew  that 
his  tiny  thin  arms  never  could  grow  any 
stronger  and  that  his  poor  useless  little  legs, 
never  could  do  him  any  service,  until  he 
stood  upon  the  other  shore. 

"  Chee,"  he  said  one  day  to  his  attendant, 
"  should  you  cry  if  you  thought  you  must 
die  now  ?" 

"  Yes,  Chee  ki,"  answered  the  Chinaman, 
whose  English  was  defective. 

"  Do  you  know,  Chee,"  said  Gussie,  "  that 
I  am  going  to  die,  and  I  do  not  feel  sorry 
at  all ;  I  feel  so  glad,  because  I  can  not 
live." 


CHEE.  75 

"  No,  no,"  answered  Chee,  earnestly,  "  you 
no  die,  Gussie,  you  too  pretty,  too  good. 
Missy  Ranny  die  ;  she  all  bad  ;  good  die." 

What  Gussie  said  was  true  ;  he  was  glad 
that  he  could  not  live ;  for  he  was  of  so 
sweet  and  angelic  a  nature,  that  he  felt  no 
more  fear  of  going  to  meet  the  angels  across 
the  river,  than  he  did  of  crossing  the  street 
to  meet  his  sister ;  his  pure,  heavenly,  un- 
tainted spirit  looked  out  from  his  large 
soft  eyes,  until  you  fancied  the  little  crippled 
figure  was  but  a  shell,  holding  him  down. 

If  he  had  been  well-formed,  healthy,  and 
strong,  he  would  have  been  like  Miranda, 
perhaps,  self-willed  and  pettish ;  but  a  boy 
who  has  no  companionship  but  himself, 
and  the  angelic  spirits  which  hover  over 
good  children,  can  not  but  become  akin 
to  them ;  and  all  who  knew  him,  thought 
that  little  Gussie  was  an  earth-angel. 

One  day,  as  his  new  attendant — his  name 


76  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

was  All  Foy — was  wheeling  him  along  the 
broad  sidewalk,  on  Mission  Street,  he  was 
startled  by  hearing  Gussie  call  out,  excited- 

iy- 

"Stop  a  minute,  Foy;  there  is  Ah 
Chee !  Chee,  Chee,  have  you  forgotten 
Gussie  Gager  ?" 

But  the  Chinaman  to  whom  he  spoke, 
hurried  away  as  though  he  did  not  hear 
him,  and  Ah  Foy  said, "  Him  no  Ah  Chee." 

"  No,"  said  Gussie,  sadly,  "  I  thought  it 
was,  but  it  was  not." 

He  told  Miranda  about  it  when  he  got 
home,  but  she  only  laughed,  and  said, — 

"  I'll  bet  it  was  Chee,  and  he  was  afraid 
you  would  have  him  taken  up  for  steal- 
ing." 

But  Gussie  shook  his  head,  and  said, — 

"  No,  Ranny,  I  don't  think  it  was  Chee, 
because  he  knows  that  I  would  not  let  him 
be  taken  up  for  any  thing;  and  he  loves 


CHEE.  77 

me  too  much  not  to  stop  and  speak  to  me, 
even  if  he  was  afraid." 

A  week  afterward,  Chee  came,  and 
asked  to  see  "  Missy  Gager."  He  told 
Mrs.  Gager  a  story,  which  might,  or  might 
not,  have  been  true.  He  said  that  he  went 
for  the  dress  and  cloak,  but  forgot  to  pay 
the  lady ;  that  he  then  went  to  call  upon  a 
countryman,  "  a  belly  bad  man,"  he  said, 
who  advised  him  not  to  go  back,  but  to 
keep  the  money  and  the  clothes,  and  buy 
a  fan  for  Josh  (their  great  idol),  so  that  he 
would  not  be  angry  with  him. 

At  first  he  struggled  against  evil,  so 
Chee  said,  but,  after  a  while,  he  yielded, 
and  went  to  work  for  his  friend,  the  bad 
man ;  but  he  did  not  spend  the  money,  nor 
sell  the  dress,  for  his  torpid  Chinese  con- 
science would  stir  occasionally,  and  trouble 
him. 

At  last,  he  saw  Gussie  on  the   street 


78  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

(he  was  right  then,  when  he  thought  he 
saw  him). 

He  saw  Gussie,  and  heard  him  call, — 

"  Ghee  !  Ghee  !  have  you  forgotten  Gus- 
sie  Gager  ?"  And  his  heart  was  so  touched, 
by  the  sad,  sweet  voice  of  his  little  charge, 
that  he  had  come  back  with  the  money 
and  the  clothes,  to  ask  Missy  Gager  to 
forgive  him,  and  let  him  come  back  again 
to  take  care  of  Gussie;  and,  after  a  little 
consideration,  Missy  Gager  said,  "  yes." 

To  say  that  Gussie  was  glad  when  he 
was  told  all  this  long  story  of  Ghee's, 
would  be  falling  very  much  short  of  the 
truth;  his  little,  pale  face  fairly  beamed 
with  joy ;  and  he  told  Ghee,  that  he  was 
so  glad  and.  sorry  both  at  once,  that  he 
didn't  know  which  he  was  most 

He  tried  hard,  dear  little  Gussie !  to 
convince  Ghee  that  he  had  done  something 
very  wrong;  but  Ghee,  assuring  him  that 


CHEE.  79 

he  had  bought  a  fan  for  Josh  out  of  his 
own  pocket,  would  not  be  convinced  that 
the  theft  was  wrong  in  itself. 

When  the  warm  autumnal  sun  had  given 
place  to  the  clouds  and  rains  of  the  Cali- 
fornia winter,  Mrs.  Gager  told  Ghee,  that 
at  the  end  of  the  month  he  must  find 
another  place ;  and  when  Ghee,  with  much 
surprise  and  distress,  inquired  why,  she 
told  him  that  the  doctors  said,  that  when 
little  Gussie  left  his  bed,  it  would  be  to 
seek  a  cold  and  dark  one;  and  that  the 
sunshine  would  never  again  fall  upon  and 
illuminate  his  face,  for  Gussie's  God  wanted 
him  to  come  and  live  with  Him,  where  the 
sunshine  never  faded. 

Then  Ghee's  heart  ached,  for  all  it  was 
but  the  heart  of  a  barbarian  and  an  idola- 
ter. He  asked  Gussie  that  day,  what  he 
could  do  to  please  him  ;  and  Gussie  put 
his  little  hand,  so  thin  and  so  white,  upon 


80  NO  BABY  IS  THE  HOUSE. 

the  brown  and  hard  one  of  his  friend ;  and 
it  fell  upon  Ghee's  so  lightly,  that  it  seemed 
more  like  the  hand  of  an  angel  than  a 
child. 

"  Chee,"  said  Gussie,  "  you  can  do  some- 
thing, that  will  please  me  so  much.  It  will 
please  me  while  I  live ;  and  after  I  die,  I 
will  look  down  and  love  you  from  the 
heaven  where  I  am  going  to  live,  if  you 
will  do  it  for  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  Chee,  with  a  big  tear  in  his 
almond  eyes,  "  yes,  Gussie,  Chee  will." 

"  Love  Jesus,"  said  Gussie,  "  love  Jesus." 
But  before  he  could  explain  who  Jesus 
was,  the  Doctor  came  in,  and  said  that  he 
must  not  talk  any  more,  so  all  Chee  knew 
was  that  he  must  love  Jesus ;  "  but  where 
can  I  find  him,"  thought  Chee,  sadly ;  "  I 
can't  love  him  unless  I  can  find  him." 

The  next  day  (Gussie's  last  day  on  the 
earth,  which  had  been  like  a  prison  to  him) 


CHEE.  81 

was  a  dark,  cloudy,  and  drizzly  day ;  but 
toward  sunset,  the  clouds  broke  away  in 
the  west,  and  let  a  flood  of  glorious  sun- 
shine into  the  sick  chamber. 

"  Papa,"  said  Gussie  feebly,  as  the  first 
breaking  of  the  clouds  lightened  the  room ; 
"  I'm  getting  nearer,  papa ;  I  can  almost 
see  the  walls  of  God's  city  now ;  it  is  get- 
ting so  light." 

They  bent  over  him  more  closely  then ; 
and  a  great  scalding  tear  dropped  from 
Mrs.  Gager's  cheek,  upon  the  thin,  cold 
hand  of  her  crippled  boy,  her  only  son. 

Gussie  thought  it  was  Miranda.  "  Ran- 
ny,"  he  said,  "  don't  cry." 

The   room    grew    lighter    and  lighter. 
"  I'm  getting  nearer,"  he  murmured,  "  near- 
er and  nearer." 

The  clouds  broke  away  then,  and  the 
whole  glorious  burst  of  sunshine  beamed 
into  the  room ;  but  more  especially  did  it 


82  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

fall  upon  the  bed ;  upon  the  tiny  figure, 
whose  little  crippled  feet  had  never  been 
stained  with  the  stains  of  earth  ;  upon  the 
white  face,  always  pure,  now  angelic. 

"Mamma!"  he  cried  joyfully,  "the  gates 
have  opened,  the  gates  have  opened."  His 
heart  fluttered  for  a  moment,  and  then,  the 
gates  did,  indeed,  open  to  him. 

And  poor  Chee,  who  loved  him,  won- 
dered where  he  could  go  to  find  the  Jesus 
whom  he  was  to  love,  in  order  to  please 
Gussie ;  he  asked,  but  nobody  could  touch 
the  chord  in  his  heart  which  had  vibrated 
to  the  little  cripple's  touch,  and  so  nobody 
could  tell  him  to  his  satisfaction,  who 
Jesus  was,  nor  where  he  could  find  him. 

At  last,  Chee  bethought  himself  of  the 
bed  where  his  little  friend  was  sleeping, 
and  he  thought  that  if  this  Jesus  was  a 
spirit,  not  a  man,  that  he  would  hear  him 
there,  by  the  side  of  Gussie's  grave.  So 


CHEE.  83 

once  a  month  Chee  carries  flowers — white 
flowers,  for  white  is  the  mourning  color  to 
the  Chinese,  as  black  is  to  us — he  carries 
these  frail  white  blossoms,  as  many  as  he 
can  get,  and  strews  them  over  the  mound  ; 
murmuring,  as  he  does  so,  "  I  love  Jesus, 
I  love  Jesus  !" 

Perhaps  this  simple  and  strange  act  of 
worship  is  acceptable  to  Him  who  holds 
worlds  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  yet  listens 
to  the  prayers  of  the  meanest  of  his  crea- 
tures ;  and,  perhaps,  when  our  final  ac- 
counts are  cast,  Gussie  will  know,  with  a 
glad  heart,  that  his  short  and  crippled  life 
did  not  fail  to  bear  fruit. 

Chee  believes  that  his  friend  looks  down 
from  his  home  and  smiles  upon  him,  and 
the  day  that  he  pays  this  homage  at  his 
grave,  is  the  happiest  day  of  his  miserable 
life,  because  he  does  believe  so ;  and  I  be- 
lieve it  too. 


THE   TOY   BALLOON. 

I  CBIED,  "  Hold  fast,  thou  little  hand ! 

'Twill  slip  away  from  you, 
And  be  a  toy  for  birdies  gay 

In  the  skies  so  bright  and  blue. 

Against  the  clouds  'twill  bumping  go, 
And  sail  from  out  your  sight, 

So  now  be  cautious,  little  hand, 
And  hold  that  ribbon  tight." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care  !"  those  roguish  eyes, 

They  fairly  laughed  at  me, 
"  If  it  goes  above  the  pearly  clouds, 

To  where  the  angels  be ; 

For  you  may  bet,"  he  did  not  heed, 
My  sternly  warning  frown, — 


THE  TOY  BALLOON.  85 

'Twould  not  be  lost,  of  course  'twould 

not, 
For  they  would  throw  it  down." 

All  ye  who  walk  the  way  of  life, 

By  bitter  care  denied, 
Ye  know  the  word  of  Jesus  saith, 
That  ye  must  have  the  simplest  faith, 

The  faith  of  a  little  child. 


THE    BROWN    NOSES. 

THE  Brown  Noses  were  house-hunting. 
Poor  Mrs.  Brown  Nose,  who  was  rather 
delicate,  went  into  a  fit  of  tears  every  night 
after  supper,  and  once  sobbed  out  to  the 
head  of  the  family, — 

"  Oh,  Brown  Nose,  Brown  Nose  !  I  shall 
die  of  starvation  if  I  stay  here  much  longer, 
for  I  can  not,  I  can  not  bear  Mrs.  Puggins7 
cooking." 

Mr.  Brown  Nose  looked  disconsolate, 
and  said: 

"  My  dear,  it  is  well  and  easy  to  say 
move  ;  but  just  tell  me,  if  you  can,  of  some 
place  to  which  we  can  move.  I  grant  you 
that  Mrs.  Puggins'  cooking  is  bad  enough. 
I  declare  to  you  that  her  cheese  is  abomin- 


THE  BROWN  NOSES.  87 

able,  and  her  bread  miserable;  but,  Mrs. 
Brown  Nose,  is  it  not  better  to  swallow 
this  bread  and  this  cheese  of  Mrs.  Pug- 
gins'  and  live,  than  it  is  to  wander  out 
into  the  wide  world,  risking  the  chance 
of  finding  another  home,  and,  perchance, 
die?" 

Here  he  made  a  majestic  sweep  of  his 
paw,  making  the  flour  fly  in  every  direc- 
tion, for,  you  must  know,  the  Brown  Noses 
lived  in  Mrs.  Puggins'  flour  barrel. 

"  Ah,  Greyback !"  sobbed  the  poor  lady, 
"  'tis  not  alone  the  cookery  of  Mrs.  Pug- 
gins  that  renders  me  miserable,  but  she 
comes  poking  around  here,  and,  although 
I  do  my  best  to  keep  the  children  still 
while  she  is  present,  sometimes  they  will 
whisper  or  cry,  and  then  that  odious 
woman,  who  is  so  disagreeable,  you  know, 
screams  out, — 

"  i  Those  nasty  mice !   Jehoshaphat  Pug- 


88  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

gins  shall  go  this  very  day  and  get  me  a 
trap  !  The  nasty  things  I' 

"  And  then,  dear  Greyback,  she  dives 
her  hateful  great  paw  down  into  the  house, 
and,  of  course,  the  poor  children  are  dread- 
fully terrified,  and  naturally  scream  out  a 
little,  and  then  she  goes  and  yells  out, — 

"  '  Those  nasty  mice  !'  and  growls  some- 
thing more  about  the  trap,  until  I  am 
fairly  wound  up  to  the  screaming  point. 

"  Greyback  Brown  Nose,  I  tell  you  we 
must  move,  and,  moreover,  we  will  move, 
for  our  children's  lives  are  in  danger,  as 
well  as  our  own." 

"  Mrs.  Brown  Nose,  you  and  I  will  go 
out  this  very  evening,  and  try  to  find  a 
new  home;  then,  if  we  do,  ' Farewell  to 
Puggins  !'  as  you  yourself  once  said." 

"  Well  said,  Greyback !"  was  the  reply. 
"  There  is  no  harm  in  trying,  at  least." 

So,  that  evening,  this  charming  couple 


THE  BROWN  NOSES.  89 

dressed  themselves  out  in  their  best,  wash- 
ed their  faces,  and  curled  their  whiskers, 
and  started  off. 

Mr.  Brown  Nose  thought  there  was  no 
need  of  fixing  up  so  much,  but  the  lady 
said  she  would  not  go  out  of  the  house 
looking  like  a  ragamuffin,  and  neither 
should  he,  "  for,"  she  said,  "  who  knows 
but  we  might  meet  the  Short-paws  or  the 
Big  Eyes,  and  how  mortified  we  should 
feel  if  we  did  not  look  respectable  !  You 
never  catch  the  Short-paws  out  with  un- 
curled whiskers  and  dirty  faces,  and  they 
never  shall  catch  me  out  so,  for  all  they 
stick  themselves  up  for  big-bugs,  and  we 
don't." 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  "  very  well ;"  and 
he  impatiently  jerked  a  refractory  whisker. 

"  Do  you  know,  Greyback,"  said  Mrs. 
Brown  Nose,  confidentially,  "  do  you  know 
that  Mrs.  Soft  Ears,  old  Short-paws'  mar- 


90  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

ried  daughter,  you  know,  told  me  that 
those  Big  Eyes  have  got  a  mean  place 
there  at  Madame  Harkey's  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  rejoined  Mr.  Greyback. 
"  I'd  like  to  know  if  you're  ready !" 

"  My  conscience,  how  cross  you  are !" 
she  said,  catching  up  her  fly-wing  fan. 
"  I'm  all  ready ;  come  along." 

So,  after  admonishing  the  children  to 
keep  quiet,  Greyback  took  Mrs.  Brown 
Nose's  ear  in  his  mouth,  which  is  the  way 
mice  are  gallant,  for  you  may  imagine  that 
it  would  be  very  inconvenient  for  the  gen- 
tlemen mice  to  offer  the  ladies  their  arms. 

The  Brown  Noses  had  a  dreadful  time 
house-hunting. 

The  places  they  were  obliged  to  squeeze 
through,  fairly  made  Mrs.  B.  quite  sick ; 
and  besides  that  she  lost  her  fly-wing  fan  ; 
and  besides  that,  in  squeezing  through  a 
particularly  tiny  hole,  Greyback  jerked  her 


THE  BROWN  NOSES.  91 

ear  so,  that  it  bled  very  badly,  and  quite 
spoiled  her  beautiful  spiderVweb  collar, 
which  she  prized  so  much,  because  a  former 
admirer  had  presented  it  to  her. 

Greyback,  though,  did  not  seem  to  care 
a  bit  when  she  told  him  of  the  damage  he 
had  done. 

Then,  crowning  sorrow  of  all,  after  her  fine 
things  were  spoiled,  they  met  Mr.  Big  Eyes, 
who  invited  them  in  for  a  rest  and  refresh- 
ments. 

For  these  mice,  you  must  know,  are  the 
most  hospitable  race  in  the  world,  and  never 
have  a  caller  but  they  invite  him  to  make 
free  with  Mrs.  Puggins',  or  Madame  Har- 
key's,  or  Mrs.  Somebody  else's  provisions, 
apologizing  all  the  time  for  the  cooking,  in 
the  politest  manner  imaginable. 

The  Big  Eyes  seemed  to  have  a  very 
comfortable  place,  in  spite  of  what  Mrs. 
Soft  Ears  had  said,  and  were  so  very  sym- 


92  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

pathizing,  when  poor  Mrs.  Brown  Nose, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  told  them  of  her 
multitude  of  troubles,  that  Greyback 
opened  his  heart  and  his  mouth  at  the  same 
time,  and  told  them  what  he  was  hunt- 
ing for. 

Then  up  spoke  Bluey  Big  Eyes,  the  eld- 
est daughter  of  that  charming  family. 

"  Oh  ma !  oh  pa !  oh  Mrs.  Brown  Nose  ! 
I  know  something !" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  yes,"  replied  her  pa,  look- 
ing a  little  dubious,  for  he  did  not  consider 
Bluey  very  bright.  "  Yes,  my  dear,  well  ?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Bluey,  "I  met  Mrs.  Soft 
Ears'  son,  Greeny,  to-day,  and  he  told  me 
that  the  family  had  moved  from  their 
house  to  another.  So,  perhaps  the  Brown 
Noses  may  like  their  house." 

"  May  be,"  said  Mr.  Big  Eyes,  with  a  nod. 

"  May  be,"  said  Mrs.  Big  Eyes,  with  a 
smile. 


THE  BROWN  NOSES.  93 

"May  be,"  said  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown 
Nose  in  concert,  Mr.  B.  twisting  a  long 
whisker  round  his  claw,  and  Mrs.  B.  wiping 
away  her  tears  on  a  paper  handkerchief. 

Mrs.  B.  knew  where  the  Soft  Ears  had 
been  residing,  so,  after  mutual  good  wishes, 
they  wended  their  way  onward,  inspected 
the  premises,  found  them  satisfactory,  and 
returned  to  their  innocent  family,  who  had 
slumbered  on  peacefully  in  the  warm  re- 
cesses of  Mrs.  Jehoshaphat  Puggins'  flour- 
barrel,  all  the  time  their  parents  had  been 
gone. 

How  great  was  Mrs.  J.  Puggins7  joy 
when  she  discovered  that  "  them  pesky 
mice  "  had  left  her. 

How  great  was  Mrs.  Ludovick's  annoy- 
ance when  she  discovered  that  "  those  dis- 
gusting creatures"  were  not  gone,  although 
she  had  hoped  they  were,  as  she  had  neither 
seen  nor  heard  them  for  several  days. 


94:  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

66  Dear,  dear !  What  shall  I  do  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Ludovick  one  day  as  she  heard  a  loud 
squealing  in  the  provision-closet  (a  little 
family  difference  among  the  Brown  Noses, 
by  the  by)  ;  "  I  must  get  a  trap.  Charles, 
when  you  come  home  to-night,  bring  me  a 
trap !" 

"Very  well,"  said  Charles,  and  came 
home,  sure  enough,  with  a  cunning  little 
trap  in  his  pocket,  attractive  enough  to  be- 
guile any  but  the  most  wary  and  experienced 
mice  into  its  treacherous  door.  And  when 
that  same  door  was  thrown  invitingly  open, 
and  a  most  savory  and  inviting  mouthful  of 
cheese  was  suspended  in  front  of  it ; — well, 
it  would  have  overruled  the  scruples  of 
very  cautious  mice,  as,  alas!  it  overruled 
the  prudence  of  the  Brown  Noses. 

Grey  back  Brown  Nose,  the  father  of  the 
family,  was  the  first  to  fall. 

It  was   one  night   when  there   was  no 


THE  BROWN  NOSES.  95 

dainty  on  the  shelves,  and  as  Grey  back  was 
peering  disconsolately  here  and  there,  he 
saw  the  door  of  the  little  wire-house  flung 
\vide  open,  he  scented  the  bit  of  cheese 
hanging  in  front  of  it ;  but  alas !  he  never 
noticed  that  the  wicked  little  wire  held  the 
door  wide  open. 

So  he  walked  in,  and  with  gaping  jaws, 
took  the  cheese  into  his  mouth ;  bang ! 
came  the  door,  right  down  upon  poor  Grey- 
back's  tail,  while  at  the  same  time,  the 
sharp  wire  upon  which  the  cheese  was  hung 
cut  and  lacerated  his  tender  little  mouth. 

Oh  !  how  he  cried  ! 

Oh  !  how  he  squealed  ! 

Poor  Mrs.  Brown  Nose  rolled  out  of 
bed,  and  taking  two  of  the  dear  children 
by  the  ear,  she  told  the  rest  to  follow, 
and  scampered  off  to  the  scene  of  sorrow. 

"  Yew-ew  !"  squealed  Greyback ;  "  my 
tail  is  being  pinched  off!" 


96  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

"  Oh,  Greyback !  what  has  happened  ?" 
sobbed  Mrs.  B. 

"There  was  cheese  here,"  groaned  he, 
"  and  a  sharp  wire,  and — " 

"  Poor  pa !"  squealed  all  the  children. 

"My  children!"  said  Greyback,  "I  am 
convinced  that  my  last  hours  are  approach- 
ing !  Be  warned  by  me,  my  children,  and 
never  yield  to  advice  which  your  heart  tells 
you  is  bad  advice. 

"And  you,  Mrs.  Brown  Nose,  be 
warned  by  this  sad  occurrence,  and  try 
to  be  contented! 

"I  now  feel  that  Mrs.  Jehoshaphat  Pug- 
gins  was  a  fine  woman;  that  her  cheese 
was  not  abominable,  neither  was  her  bread 
miserable. 

"  Oh !"  he  groaned,  "  my  mouth !  my 
Hail!" 

Just  then  was  heard  the  heavy  thump ! 
thump !  which  announced  the  coming  of 


THE  BROWN  NOSES.  97 

Charles  Ludovick;  and  Greyback  had 
time  only  to  gasp  out. — 

"  My  loved  ones,  I  bid  you  farewell !" 
when  the  door  opened,  the  loved  ones  scam- 
pered out  of  sight,  and  Mr.  Charles  Ludo- 
vick seized  the  trap  and  departed. 

The  last  scion  of  the  Brown  Noses 
prowled  about  in  the  provision  closet  one 
Autumn  night,  sadly  thinking  of  the 
promising  family  of  brothers  and  sisters 
who  had,  one  after  another,  been  beguiled 
into  the  wire  house,  from  which  they  had 
never  escaped. 

"  I  shall  never  be  caught,"  he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  wandered  listlessly  along, 
u  for  I  am  warned  by  the  unhappy  fate  of 
every  member  of  my  family.  I  dread,  I 
shun  the  very  scent  of  cheese  !  Mrs.  Ludo- 
vick has  but  very  little  upon  these  shelves, 
too,  that  is  palatable.  What !  what  is  this  I 
smell  \  I  truly  believe  that  it  is  bacon. 


98  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

I  can  not  see  here,  it  is  so  dark !  I  wonder 
where  this  bacon  can  be  ?" 

Here  he  brushed  against  something, — 
bang!  went  the  little  door,  and  the  last 
member  of  the  Brown  Nose  family  was 
alone  with  the  piece  of  bacon ; — but  he  did 
not  want  it  now. 

How  sad  he  was,  and  how  soon  it  was 
morning  !  how  cruel  sounded  Mr.  Ludo- 
vick's  voice  when  he  called  out, — 

"  Jane,  I've  got  another  mouse  !" 

How  fast  the  poor  little  heart  beat  when 
that  gentleman  took  the  trap  in  his  hand 
and  looked  in  ! 

"  I'll  drown  the  scamp  pretty  soon,"  said 
Charles,  putting  the  trap  down  on  the 
wash-house  bench. 

By  and  by,  up  came  a  rosy,  chubby 
face,  and  a  pair  of  big  brown  eyes  peered 
into  the  wire  house ;  a  pair  of  cherry  lips 
saying, 


THE  BROWN  NOSES.  99 

'/Poor  Mr,  Mousey!  poor,  little  Mr. 
Mousey!  you  don't  like  to  be  in  there  do 
you?  I'm  soiTy  you  got  caught,  Mr. 
Mousey,  real  sorry,  and  I'd  like  to  let 
you  go." 

The  little  chubby  hand  fumbled  at  the 
door. 

"  I  wonder  if  it's  hard  to  move,"  said  he. 

No,  it  was  easily  moved,  the  kind  heart 
was  easily  moved  too,  and, — well !  up  went 
the  wire  door,  and  out  darted  Mr.  Brown 
Nose,  glad  indeed  to  get  away. 

"  Oh  !  mamma,  the  little  mouse  has  gone," 
called  out  the  cherry  lips,  "  I  let  him  out !" 

"  Dickey  !"  was  the  grave  answer,  "  that 
was  not  right,  you  know." 

And  this  was  all  that  was  said. 

Young  Mr.  Brown  Nose  lives  with  the 
Big  Eyes'  family  now,  but  he  never  eats 
cheese  or  bacon. 


"I    CAN    WAIT." 

There  was  once  a  very  beautiful  lady, 
who  lived  in  a  very  "beautiful  country, 
which  was  ruled  by  a  glorious  and  benefi- 
cent King. 

Now  this  King  so  loved  his  fair  country, 
and  so  loved  his  dear  subjects,  that  he 
showered  -upon  it  and  them,  all  the  gifts 
and  blessings  he  could;  he  took  such  a 
warm  interest  and  felt  such  tender  love  for 
each  and  all,  of  them,  that  he  wished  and 
endeavored  to  make  all  equally  happy. 

He  could  not  do  this,  however,  for  some 
were  so  greedy  that  they  wanted  all  of  his 
kind  gifts  and  blessings;  others  were  so 
perverse  that  they  chose  to  be  unhappy 
when  there  was  not  the  slightest  reason ; 


I  CAN  WAIT.  101 

while  others  were  so  wasteful  and  improvi- 
dent, that  they  were  always  in  need,  des- 
pite his  kind  bounty. 

But  so  dearly  did  he  love  them  all,  that 
he  not  only  forgave  them  all  of  their  faults, 
but  every  once  in  a  while,  sent  to  them  a 
lot  of  beautiful  presents  by  his  messengers. 

In  the  part  of  the  country  where  this 
beautiful  lady  lived,  there  lived  many  other 
beautiful  ladies,  who  thought  themselves 
quite  as  fair  as  Lady  Cecilia,  and  maybe 
they  were  too,  only  it  does  not  seem  so  to  me. 

One  day,  the  King's  messenger  came, 
bearing  with  him  all  the  beautiful  gifts 
which  his  master  had  sent  to  his  dear 
people. 

The  old  men  and  women,  the  fathers  and 
mothers,  the  young  men,  the  maidens,  and 
even  the  little  children,  flocked  around  him 
and  hung  on  to  his  garments,  as  he  gave 
his  presents  to  first  one  and  then  another. 


102  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

All  but  the  Lady  Cecilia. 

She  was  busy  binding  up  the  wounds  of 
a  pale  and  weary  stranger,  for  she  remem- 
bered that  the  King  had  bidden  his  sub- 
jects to  be  kind  and  charitable,  one  unto 
another ;  and  she  loved  him  so  well,  in  re- 
turn for  his  love  of  her,  that  she  was 
anxious  to  do  what  he  required  of  her. 

The  stranger  had  very  many  wounds, 
and  the  King's  messenger  had  distributed 
his  gifts  and  was  on  his  way  to  the  next 
village,  when  seeing  her,  he  stopped  and 
touched  her  arm,  saying : — 

"  Fair  maiden,  choose  quickly,  for  I  must 

go." 

But  just  then,  Cecilia  was  pressing  the 
lint  on  to  a  sore,  deep,  wound,  and  she  re- 
plied gravely,  but  not  sadly : 

"  Go  thy  way,  messenger,  for  I  can  waifc 
until  the  next  time." 

The  messenger  cast  upon  her  a  loving 


I  CAN  WAIT.  103 

and  admiring  look,  and,  as  she  desired, 
went  on  his  way. 

The  next  time  he  came,  Cecilia  chanced 
to  be  clothing  and  feeding  a  hungry  and 
homeless  little  orphan  child,  who  had 
wandered  to  her  door,  for  she  knew  that 
the  King  dearly  loved  little  children,  and 
that,  in  his  glorious  palace  and  noble 
court,  were  crowds  of  dear  young  children, 
who  had  gone  to  live  with  him  forever, 
because  he  loved  them  so  very,  very  ten- 
derly. 

So  she  gave  good,  wholesome  food  to 
the  half-starved  little  one,  and  replaced  its 
poor  rags  with  clean,  whole,  garments; 
but  it  took  her  a  long  time  to  do  all  this, 
and  so  the  King's  messenger  paused  before 
her  door,  and  said  : 

"  Cecilia,  come  and  take  the  fair  gift  our 
King  has  sent  thee." 

She  would  have  gone,  but  the  child's 


104:  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

tender,  weary  arms  were  clasped  tightly 
around  her  neck,  so  she  turned  her  head 
toward  the  door,  and  said  with  a  smile : 

"  I  can  wait,  fair  messenger ;" 

The  King's  messenger  looked  upon  her 
with  a  deep,  deep  joy  in  his  heart,  which 
shone  out  through  his  eyes;  but  he  said 
nothing,  and  went  on  his  way. 

For  the  third  time  the  King's  messenger 
came  to  the  village  where  Cecilia  lived. 
The  people  all  crowded  about  him,  as  was 
their  custom ;  and,  waiting  upon  the  edge 
of  the  road,  with  a  smile  upon  her  sweet 
lips,  was  the  fair  maiden  Cecilia;  not  so 
young  as  once  she  was,  nor  so  fair  in  the 
eyes  of  those  about  her,  but  wonderfully 
young  and  lovely  in  the  eyes  of  that  mes- 
senger from  the  King's  court. 

He  gave  to  all,  the  presents  sent  to 
them,  but,  as  he  passed  Cecilia,  he  said, 
very  gravely: 


I  CAN  WAIT.  105 

"  Maiden,  I  have  no  gift  here  for  thee"." 

The  smile  quivered  for  an  instant  on 
those  red  lips,  and  the  kind,  blue  eyes 
were  blinded  with  tears,  but  the  smile 
came  back  bravely,  and  she  answered : 

"  I  can  wait,  fair  messenger." 

Love  and  pity  shone  so  in  the  look  he 
gave  her,  that  she  minded  not  the  ques- 
tions, the  wonderment,  and  the  scorn  of 
those  about  her,  but  comforted  herself,  as 
she  went  along,  by  saying  over  the  words, 

"  I  can  wait !  I  can  wait !" 

Many,  many  times  he  came,  but  never  did 
he  bring  gifts  for  Cecilia ;  and  yet,  through 
all  disappointments,  did  she  answer : 

"  Fair  messenger,  I  can  wait." 

She  did  wait,  patiently,  for  a  long  time, 
until  the  people  of  the  village  thought  her 
old  and  ugly;  yet  the  King's  messenger 
thought  her  more  beautiful  every  time  he 
came. 

5* 


106  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

Perhaps  the  village  people  judged  her 
beauty  by  their  standard  alone,  and,  be- 
cause her  lips  were  no  longer  red  as  they 
were  in  youth,  and  her  cheeks  were  no 
longer  round  ;  because  her  hair  was  gray 
and  thin,  and  her  forehead  was  beginning 
to  show  the  wrinkles,  they  called  Cecilia 
ugly.  But  the  King's  messenger  did  not 
notice  these  changes,  for  he  looked  at  the 
"heart,  and  he  saw  how  that  was  beautiful 
with  the  gratitude  and  blessings  of  the 
unfortunate,  and  lovely  with  its  own  sweet- 
ness and  purity,  and  how  it  grew  more 
and  more  beautiful  every  year;  so  always, 
when  he  came,  he  said  to  her : 

"  Fair  maiden,"  or,  "fair  Cecilia,  I  bring 
thee  no  gift." 

And  he  marveled  much,  how  those 
around  could  help  seeing  the  loveliness 
shine  out  of  her  eyes  when  she  answered, 
"  I  can  wait !" 


I  CAN  WAIT.  107 

But,  far  from  seeing  any  virtue  in 
Cecilia's  submission  to  the  will  of  the  King, 
they  only  wondered  why  it  was  that  he 
sent  to  her  no  presents  and  most  of  them 
believed  that  she  had  committed  some  sin, 
for  which  she  was  now  being  punished. 

So,  from  the  scorn  of  one,  came  the  scorn 
of  others,  until  the  poor  maiden  was,  in 
spite  of  her  goodness  and  charity,  made  the 
abhorrence  of  all  in  the  village. 

Yet  she  never  murmured  against  the 
King,  that  he  had  put  this  burden  upon 
her;  sometimes,  indeed,  she  grew  weary 
and  heavy  hearted,  but  then  she  remem- 
bered how  dearly  he  loved  her,  and  she 
knew  that  he  was  trying  her,  to  see  if  she 
was  worthy  of  his  great  love  and  bounty ; 
and  she  knew  also,  that,  although  he  had 
sent  her  no  gifts  for  so  long  a  time,  that  in 
the  end,  she  would  have  one  so  beautiful 
that  all  others  would  pale,  and  be  as 


108  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

nothing  beside  it ;  and  when  she  thought 
of  this  she  clasped  her  hands  together,  and 
murmured,  "  Ay,  dear  King  and  Master,  I 
can  wait !  I  can  wait !  " 

Her  patience  was  sorely  tried,  for  the 
people  grew  to  disliking  her  so  much,  that 
at  last  they  drove  her  from  the  village, 
taking  from  her  all  that  she  had  in  the 
world,  and  forbidding  her  with  harsh 
threats  and  cruel  words,  ever  to  return. 

So,  poor,  old,  sa£-eyed  Cecilia  wrapped 
her  thin  mantle  about  her,  and  went  out 
into  the  bitter  storms,  and  wranglings  and 
uncharity  of  the  world. 

But  she  was  not  so  very  much  cast  down 
about  it,  for  she  remembered  that  the 
King  had  bidden  and  entreated  all  the  un- 
fortunate, the  weary,  and  the  wretched,  to 
seek  him,  that  he  might  comfort  them,  and 
take  them  into  his  beautiful  palace  to  live 
with  him. 


I  CAN  WAIT.  109 

She  knew  not  which  way  to  turn  to 
find  him,  but  she  determine!  to  walk  along 
on  the  road,  and  to  ask  every  person  she 
met  if  they  could  tell  her  the  way  to  the 
King's  house,  until  she  found  him. 

The  first  person  she  saw  was  a  shepherd 
lad,  herding  his  master's  sheep  by  the 
roadside,  she  hastened  when  she  saw  him, 
and  said  to  him : 

"  Good  child,  canst  thou  tell  me  the  way 
to  the  King's  house  ?" 

The  boy  lifted  up  his  brown  face  to 
answer  her,  when  she  discovered  that  he 
was  the  very  same  little  orphan  to  whom 
she  had  been  so  kind  years  ago,  and  who 
was  now  almost  a  man;  he  knew  her  too, 
and  kissed  her  hand,  reverently,  saying, 

u  Art  not  thou  Cecilia,  who  did  give  me 
food  and  clothes  years  ago,  when  I  was 
ragged,  and  hungry  ? " 

She  smiled  and  answered : 


HO  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

"Ay  !  good  child  I  am  Cecilia;  and  now 
I  am  seeking  the  beautiful  home  of  our 
dear  King,  for  all  others  have  turned 
against  me." 

And  he  answered  her,  very  reverently : 

"  Fair  Cecilia,  I  have  thought  but  little 
of  the  King,  and  I  have  never  sought  the 
way  to  his  home,  but  this  I  know,  if  you  are 
not  nearly  there  now,  you  are  surely  upon 
the  right  road." 

And  the  shepherd  lad  without  another 
word,  turned  to  herd  his  sheep  again,  and 
Cecilia  feebly  plodded  on  her  way . 

The  way  was  long  and  rugged,  and  her 
steps  were  so  slow  that  night  was  begin- 
ning to  fall  when  she  neared  a  roadside 
cottage;  she  knocked  at  the  door  doubt- 
fully and  timidly  two  or  three  times  without 
meeting  with  any  response. 

She  knocked  again,  and  waited,  but  no- 
body came,  and  she  was  about  to  give  up 


I  CAN  WAIT.  HI 

in  despair,  when  a  rough  hand  appeared 
upon  the  window-sill,  and  a  hard,  ill-favored 
face  appeared  in  the  window. 

"  Wilt  thou  tell  me  the  way  to  the  King's 
house  f'  said  Cecilia,  trembling,  she  knew 
not  why. 

"  The  King's  house !"  returned  the  ill- 
favored  woman,  with  an  air  of  suspicion, 
"I  know  not,  truely !  Travellers  have 
stopped  here  to  ask  their  way  to  all  kinds 
of  places,  but  thou  art  the  very  first  who  has 
ever  asked  the  way  to  the  King's  house. 
They  are  well  content  to  take  his  gifts,  with- 
out troubling  themselves  further.  And  who 
are  you,  that  you  must  ask  the  way  to  the 
King's  house  2" 

"  I  am  the  poor  old  maiden,  Cecilia !"  an- 
swered she  ;  "  and  I  seek  him,  because  he 
has  bidden  us  to  do  so,  when  we  are  for- 
saken by  all  others,  as  I  am." 

"  Begone  !"  cried    the   woman,   harshly, 


112  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

"  begone  !  if  thou  art  indeed  that  miserable, 
wicked  woman,  begone  from  rny  door !" 

With  a  heart  beating  fast,  Cecilia  obeyed 
the  command ;  and,  wrapping  her  worn 
mantle  more  closely  about  her  thin  frame, 
she  hurried  away  down  the  dark  and  rug- 
ged road. 

The  wind  whistled  mercilessly,  as  it 
went  by,  and  seemed  to  hiss,  "  begone,  be- 
gone !"  Her  heart  became  very  heavy  with 
sorrow,  for  the  world  was  very  hard  to 
her,  and  the  dear  King  was  so  hard  to 
find. 

"  I  can  wait,"  she  murmured  in  her  bro- 
ken voice,  "  but  it  is  a  weary  thing  to  do, 
and  I  have  waited  so  long,  dear  King,  I 
have  waited  so  long." 

She  slept  upon  the  hard  earth  that 
night,  and  the  next  day  she  trudged  along 
again,  dn  that  rugged  way ;  and  for  many 
nights  and  days  she  slept  upon  the  hard 


I  CAN  WAIT. 

earth,  and  plodded  along  the  hard  earth 
patiently  and  trustingly. 

But  one  night,  there  was  a  fearful  storm. 
The  wind  hissed  and  howled,  and  muttered 
along  the  weary  road  ;  and  the  broad  fields 
stretched  away  in  their  cold  verdure,  and 
the  brown  mountain  sides  glowered  pitiless- 
ly down,  upon  the  poor,  worn,  bent,  wander- 
er, who,  swayed  to  and  fro  by  the  blast,  was 
trampling  sadly  onward ;  searching  for  the 
home  of  that  dear  friend,  who,  of  all  others, 
never  would  desert  her. 

She  bent  her  head  low,  so  that  the  rain 
could  not  beat  in  her  face,  and  held  out  be- 
fore her,  her  two  hands,  as  if  she  would 
feel  her  way  through  the  dense  darkness ; 
but  she  was  chilled  to  the  bone  with  the 
cold  and  rain,  and  faint  with  fasting ;  she 
tottered  from  the  one  side  of  the  road  to 
the  other,  as  the  wind  hurled  her;  she 
knew  not  how  far  the  house  of  the  King 


NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

might  be,  nor  knew  if  she  was  even  on  the 
right  road;  no  marvel  that  her  courage 
failed  her. 

Vainly  did  she  endeavor  to  keep  up  her 
spirits  and  courage,  by  saying  to  herself, 
"I  can  wait,  dear  King  and  Lord,  I  can 
wait !" 

She  remembered  the  many  cruel  and 
bitter  trials  which  she  had  borne,  without  a 
sigh  for  his  sake;  she  remembered  the 
many  times  that  she  had  obeyed  his  wish- 
es, where  all  about  her  disregarded  them  ; 
and  how  they  had  received  favors  and  gifts 
from  his  hand  year  after  year,  while  for  her 
there  came  no  gift. 

The  big  tears  rolled  down  her  withered 
cheeks,  and  stung  them  sharper  than  the 
driving  rain.  Her  feet  slipped  upon  the 
wet  earth ,  and  her  thin  mantle  was  fast  be- 
ing  blown  into  tatters ;  but  her  heart  ached 
so  bitterly,  that  she  hardly  noticed  this. 


I  CAN  WAIT. 

"My  King,  my  brethren,  all  have  de- 
serted me  !"  she  cried  aloud,  "  they  have  all, 
all  forsaken  me  !"  And  the  blast  of  wind 
as  it  swept  by,  seemed  to  echo,  "all !  all ! 
all !" 

Her  weary  feet  slipped  upon  the  ground, 
and  she  fell,  cutting  her  hands  so  that  they 
bled,  but  she  scrambled  up  again  and 
tramped  on ;  the  air  grew  heavy  about  her, 
and  she  tottered  as  she  went,  like  an  un- 
steady wall. 

Her  salt  tears  mingled  with  the  rain, 
and  her  hands  were  covered  with  blood ; 
the  heavy  air  became  thicker  and  heavier, 
her  feet  slipped,  and  again  she  fell  upon 
the  earth. 

But  she  did  not  rise  again  this  time, 
but  cried  out,  "  dear  King,  thou  lovest  me, 
I  know,  and  I  can  wait  no  longer,  I  can 
wait  no  longer !" 

For  a  moment  the  rain  poured  on,  the 


116  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

wind  howled  by,  the  bleeding  hands  quiv- 
ered and  ached ;  then  Cecilia  found  herself 
in  front  of  a  great  pearl  gate,  which  stood 
half-way  open ;  and  down  a  golden  path 
came  a  beautiful  being,  whom  she  knew  as 
the  King's  messenger. 

"  I  knew  thou  wo.uldst  come,"  cried  he ; 
"  I  knew,  long  since,  that  thou  wouldst 
come,  fair  maiden !" 

He  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  led  her 
up  the  golden  path ;  and  she  saw,  in  the 
bright  gold,  how  her  face  had  lost  its 
wrinkles  and  its  time-stains ;  how  her  thin 
gray  hair  was  long  and  golden  again ;  and 
how  her  weary  body  was  changed  into  a 
beautiful  one,  like  that  of  her  companion 

The  messenger  led  her  into  a  lofty  and 
beautiful  room,  and  she  saw  coming  toward 
her  a  smiling  and  tender  face,  which,  glori- 
ous as  it  was,  she  did  not  fear  in  the  least. 

"Thy  gracious  King,  and  mine!"  said 


I  CAN  WAIT. 

the  messenger ;  and  Cecilia  sank  upon  her 
knees. 

"  Fair  maiden,  dear  maiden,"  said  the 
King,  "  I  have  sent  thee  no  gift  from  my 
hand  for  years  and  years,  that  I  might  my- 
self put  it  upon  thy  white  brow." 

Cecilia  felt  the  soft  pressure  of  the  gold- 
en crown,  and  a  wonderful  happiness  and 
joy  arose  in  her  heart,  for  she  knew  that 
she  had  won,  by  waiting  and  by  faithful- 
ness, "  The  crown  of  eternal  life  !" 


THE    FIRST   BOOTS. 

WHERE  ankle-ties  were  wont  to  trip, 

And  little  gaiters  used  to  patter, 
Comes  a  pair  of  sturdy  boots, 

Making  such  a  dreadful  clatter; 
Half  so  bright,  or  half  so  scarlet, 

Never  yet  was  Turkey  leather, 
And  prettier  tips  were  never  made, 

To  pinch  ten  little  toes  together. 

Marching  lip,  and  marching  down, 

Much  too  dignified  for  dancing, 
Pretending  to  be  quite  at  ease, 

Yet  ever  downward  slily  glancing; 
"Where  his  feet  will  show  the  fullest, 

There  he  ever  takes  his  station; 
And  wonders  every  passer-by 

Doesn't  stop  in  admiration. 


THE  FIRST  BOOTS.  119 

Wiping  off  a  speck  of  dust, 

That  might  mar  their  shining  glory; 
Never  thinking  of  how  quickly, 

Boots  will  be  a  worn-out  story. 
Standing  with  his  handkerchief, 

Anxiously  to  guard  his  treasure; 
With  all  the  cares  of  ownership, 

Mingled  with  his  proudest  pleasure. . 


TWO    CARLOS. 

THEKE  was  an  Italian  once,  whose  name 
was  Carlo,  and  a  dog  whose  name  was 
Carlo,  and  both  Carlos  were  as  poor  as 
ever  they  could  be. 

Carlo  means  Charles  in  the  Italian  lan- 
guage, and  so,  to  distinguish  the  man  Carlo 
from  the  dog  Carlo,  we  will  call  the  former 
Charles ;  or  Mr.  Charles,  would,  perhaps,  be 
still  better. 

Well!  Mr.  Charles  was  poor,  as  I  said, 
but  he  had  once  been  rich — very  rich  !  I 
do  not  know  how  he  lost  his  riches,  but  I 
suspect  the  reason  was,  that  he  was  too 
rich  to  be  careful,  and  so  was  poor  before 
he  knew  it  could  be  possible. 

At  any  rate,  he  lost  every  thing  but  his 
little  dog  Carlo.  But  Carlo  was  a  jewel ! 


TWO   CARLOS.  121 

He  was  servant,  support,  companion, — 
brother  to  Mr.  Charles. 

So,  many  thoughtless  people  laughed  at 
them,  when  the  man  pressed  his  red  lips  to 
the  spaniel's  silky  forehead,  but  they  knew 
nothing  of  the  bond  between  them;  how 
Carlo  bought  the  loaf  of  bread  for  his 
tired  master;  how  Carlo's  dancing  to  Mr. 
Charles'  guitar,  and  his  comical  tricks  to 
the  lifting  of  Mr.  Charles'  finger,  brought 
in  all  the  pennies  they  ever  had ;  how  it 
was  little  Carlo's  sympathy  that  drove  the 
dark  shadow  from  his  master's  heart  and 
face,  when  that  master  thought  of  the  care- 
less, golden  past ;  and  how  Carlo  followed 
at  his  heels,  and  shared  his  poverty  with 
faithful  love  all  through  their  wanderings. 

For  they  wandered  here,  there,  and  every 
where, — Mr.  Charles  and  Carlo,  and  the  old 
guitar. 

Sometimes  they  fared  well,  and   some- 


122  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

times  they  fared  very  ill ;  sometimes  a 
kindly  "heart  warmed  towards  them,  and 
they  got  a  bowl  of  milk  and  generous  slice 
of  bread,  but  much  oftener  they  were  told 
to  go  off,  and  the  Italian's  thin  hand  stop- 
ped the  thrumming  of  the  old  guitar,  and 
the  feet  of  Carlo  and  his  master  had  to 
be  weary,  and  dusty,  and  sore,  for  a 
while  longer. 

Ah  me !  those  plump,  ruddy  farmers 
had  no  pity  for  the  pale  sad-eyed  foreign- 
er; they  were  industrious  and  thrifty, 
and  would  not  bestow  their  hard  earned 
bread  on  a  vagrant  who  did  nothing  but 
tramp  through  the  country,  with  a  guitar 
in  his  hand,  and  a  dog  at  his  heels.  "  Let 
him  work !"  they  said. 

May  be  they  were  quite  right,  but  we 
know  that  "  Charity  covereth  a  multitude 
of  sins,"  and  both  the  master  and  the  dog 
needed  much  charity. 


TWO  CARLOS.  123 

One  evening  they  arrived  at  a  village, 
where  every  one  seemed  to  be  merry  and 
gay;  now  Mr.  Charles  and  Carlo  were 
tired  and  sad,  but  they  knew  from  ex- 
perience that  when  the  heart  is  gay  the 
hand  is  open,  so  instead  of  resting,  they 
wandered  through  the  streets  of  the  vil- 
lage, and  many  a  rich  farmer  and  trades- 
man paused  to  see  the  dancing  and  trickery 
of  the  silky  spaniel,  and  many  a  one 
dropped  a  coin  into  the  little  pocket  of 
Carlo's  gay  jacket,  for  the  dog  had  a  com- 
plete suit  of  scarlet  clothes  to  dance  and 
perform  his  tricks  in,  and  he  had  the  cun- 
ningest  way  of  pulling  the  pocket  open 
with  his  paw,  you  can  imagine. 

Carlo,  and  Mr.  Charles  had  a  supper 
that  night,  such  as  they  had  not  indulged 
in  for  a  long  time,  and  slept  together  in 
the  barn  upon  the  clean  fresh  hay. 

Perhaps  Mr.  Charles  dreamed  that  night 


124:  NO  BABY  IN"  THE  HOUSE. 

of  the  long  ago  times,  when  he  had  fine  sup- 
pers every  night,  and  feasted  his  friends ; — 
they  never  called  him  weak  in  his  head 
then,  as  they  did  now ;  or  he  might  have 
dreamed  of  his  lovely  dark-eyed  mother, 
and  have  been  again  the  pretty  boy  who 
never  refused  the  hungry  looking  vagrants 
when  they  begged  of  him.  He  was  glad 
now,  that  he  had  never  refused  them,  be- 
cause he  was  often  hungry  now  himself 
and  knew  what  it  was  to  be  refused. 

But  whatever  he  dreamed  of  that  night, 
he  slept  as  soundly  as  possible,  and  when 
he  opened  his  eyes  in  the  morning,  he  felt 
so  rested  and  happy  that  he  smiled  to 
himself,  and  without  moving  from  his  com- 
fortable place,  he  whistled  to  his  little 
Carlo. 

But  as  no  answering  bark  came,  he 
turned  over  and  looked ;  there  was  the 
little  round  place  in  the  straw  where  his 


TWO  CARLOS.  125 

pet  Lad  slept  close  beside  him,  but  no 
Carlo  was  to  be  seen. 

"  The  scamp  !"  he  thought,  "  he  has  run 
out  to  the  stable-yard,  because  I  did  not 
wake  up  early  enough  for  him  !" 

And  out  he  went  to  the  door,  and 
whistled  again  and  again,  but  no  Carlo  ap- 
peared. The  stable  boy  came  up  and 
looked  at  him  with  an  astonished  face, 
saying  in  his  mumbling,  clumsy  way,  that 
he  thought  he  had  gone  for  good. 

But  Mr.  Charles  did  not  notice  the  stable 
boy's  remarks;  he  was  too  frightened  for 
that;  for  though  he  whistled  and  called 
tenderly,  angrily,  anxiously,  the  poor  man's 
little  companion  gave  no  answer. 

He  went  around  hither,  and  thither,  ask- 
ing this  one,  and  that  one,  if  they  had  seen 
a  little  dog,  and  no  one  had  seen  him. 

Only  when  he  asked  the  stupid  stable- 
boy,  he  replied,  "  Yes !" 


126  NO   BABY  IN"    THE  HOUSE. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  gasped  poor  Mr.  Charles. 

"  You  took  him  away  yourself,  and  gave 
me  a  penny,"  said  the  boy,  with  big  eyes 
wide  open. 

"  No,  no,  no !"  sobbed  Mr.  Charles,  with 
big  tears  chasing  each  other  over  his  thin, 
dark  cheeks,  "  no,  no !  he  is  stolen,  my 
little  Carlo  is  stolen  away." 

The  stable-boy  gaped  at  him  with  aston- 
ishment ;  partly  from  seeing  him  cry  for  a 
little  dog,  and  partly  because  he  <  had  not 
yet  got  the  idea  quite  through  his  head, 
that  it  was  not  Mr.  Charles  who  carried  the 
spaniel  away  in  his  arms  and  gave  him  a 
penny. 

Mr.  Charles  searched  vainly  through  the 
village  for  his  little  pet,  and  when  he  left 
it,  with  the  old  guitar  under  his  arm,  to- 
gether with  Carlo's  gay  clothes,  he  said 
that  he  would  search  for  him  without  ceas- 
ing, until  his  weary,  dusty,  feet,  were  not 


TWO    CARLOa  127 

able  to  tramp,  and  his  weary  heart  could 
no  longer  beat. 

And  so  from  being  a  vagrant  with  a  dog 
at  his  heels,  Mr.  Charles  became  a  beggar. 

For  a  long  time  he  carried  the  guitar  un- 
der his  arm,  waiting  until  he  saw  Carlo ; 
never  touching  the  strings,  never  allowing 
any  one  to  touch  the  strings,  until  those 
dear  feet  could  dance  to  his  music;  but 
poverty  makes  many  a  change  in  the  plans 
of  men,  and  when  the  pale,  foreign,  beggar 
took  the  guitar  to  a  money-lender  in  an  old 
German  city,  the  money-lender  twanged 
the  strings  loudly,  before  he  would  lend  him 
the  pittance  he  wanted,  to  buy  his  bread. 

But  Carlo's  clothes  he  never  parted  with ; 
he  bound  them  around  him,  and  said  he 
would  starve  rather  than  part  with  them ; 
but  somehow,  though  often  hungry,  cold, 
wretched,  and  houseless,  without  money  or 
hope  of  getting  money,  he  never  quite 


128  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HFUSE. 

starved.  He  believed  that  God  was  sav- 
ing him  so  that  he  might  find  his  pet  at 
last,  and  be  happy  again. 

One  day,  as  the  beggar  wandered  through 
one  of  the  dirtiest  and  poorest  streets  of 
Paris,  he  saw  in  the  window  of  a  poor 
second-hand  shop,  a  brown  and  dusty 
guitar — Jiis  guitar. 

It  had  been  bought  and  sold  many  times 
perhaps,  and  had  found  its  way  to  Paris ; 
it  seemed  as  though  it  had  come  there,  to 
find  its  way  into  its  old  master's  hands. 

He  entered  the  shop  and  asked  to  look 
at  it ;  the  man  looked  surprised,  for  the 
beggar  was  the  last  person  who  might  be 
buying  a  guitar;  but  he  brought  it  out, 
blew  the  dust  off  of  it,  and  handed  it  to 
him. 

A  He  took  it  up  very  tenderly — did  Mr. 
Charles ;  and,  as  he  recognized  the  marks 
upon  it,  as  the  marks  of  his  old  friend,  his 


TWO    CARLOS.  129 

tears  fell  dully  and  drearily  upon  the  thick 
dust. 

He  took  from  his  pocket  five  little  coins, 
they  were  all  he  had  in  the  world,  and  put 
them  before  the  man. 

The  Jew  looked  keenly  at  the  beggar ; 
but  he  saw  the  empty  pocket,  the  thin,  thin, 
face,  the  haggard  lines  about  the  mouth, 
and  then  glanced  down  at  the  worthless 
old  guitar. 

"  Yes !"  he  nodded.  So  Mr.  Charles  took 
it  up  and  carried  it  home  with  him  to  his 
den,  cleaned  it  carefully,  and  hid  it  away. 

But  then,  he  thought  he  might  carry  it 
about  with  him,  and  maybe  Carlo  might 
hear  the  old  familiar  sound,  and  then  he 
could  find  him,  so  he  took  it  out  again  from 
its  hiding  place,  and  never  went  on  the 
busy  streets,  without  his  old  friend  under 
his  aim. 

It  never  occured  to  the  Italian  that  Carlo 


130  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

might  be  dead,  lie  only  thought  that  if  he 
searched  long  enough  and  wide  enough, 
and  earnest  enough,  that  his  darling  must 
"be  found. 

It  was  very  pitiful  to  see  him  peering 
into  every  carriage  where  a  pet  dog  sat 
on  the  seat,  and  searching  anxiously 
about  when  he  heard  the  whine  of  a 
dog. 

He  stood  one  day  upon  the  corner  of 
two  great  Parisian  streets,  thrumming,  with 
his  long,  slender,  weary,  fingers,  the  strings 
of  the  guitar.  The  streets  were  crowded 
with  carriages  and  foot-passengers,  and 
more  than  once  he  was  nearly  thrown  to 
the  pavement  by  the  rude  jostling  of  the 
passers-by. 

A  fine  carriage  came  dashing  swiftly 
down  the  street,  and  a  pet  spaniel  sat 
upon  the  seat  by  the  driver.  The  carriage 
was  too  far  off  for  him  to  see  distinctly, 


TWO   CARLOS.  131 

and  he  waited  eagerly  for  it  to  come  nearer, 
still  thrumming  upon  the  guitar. 

The  carriage  came  nearer,  nearer,  nearer ! 

The  vagrant's  great  dark  eyes  began  to 
light  with  hope,  and  happiness,  and  love, 
as  they  had  not  lighted  for  a  long,  long 
time. 

The  carriage  dashed  by,  the  little  spaniel 
turned  its  head,  and,  with  a  quick,  sharp 
bark  of  joy,  sprang  from  the  high  seat 
down  among  the  cruel,  heavy  wheels,  the 
horses'  iron  feet,  and  all  the  dash  and 
whirl  of  the  busy  crossing,  and  all  because 
of  the  dark  beggar  on  the  corner. 

The  fine  carnage  stopped,  and  a  fair 
lady  held  out  her  white  hands  for  her  pet ; 
but  her  pet  was  lying  in  a  pair  of  dark 
hands,  and  he  was  licking  those  hands 
with  all  his  poor,  dying  strength. 

They  mingled  their  tears  together  over 
him — fair  lady  and  dark  beggar. 


132  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

Mr.  Charles  took  to  her  Carlo's  gay  fine 
clothes,  and  together  they  put  them  on  to 
him,  and  he  was  buried  in  the  great  Mont- 
martre,  with  a  little  white  stone  over  the 
grave,  which  said  : 

"  CAKLO." 
"  THE  LOST  IS  FOUND." 

In  Germany,  in  France,  in  England,  in 
Italy,  and  in  many  other  countries,  a  pale, 
dark  man  begs  and  wanders,  with  an  old 
guitar  in  his  hand,  and  a  strange  light  in 
his  eyes.  He  says  he  is  searching  for  his 
little  dog  Carlo,  who  was  stolen  from  him, 
many  years  ago,  in  a  little  German  village. 

No  one  knows  who  he  is,  or  where  he 
comes  from,  only  they  say  that  his  head  is 
turned  as  by  some  great  sorrow,  and  that 
he  does  not  remember  many  things  which 
have  happened. 

But  how  can  we  say,  but  that  some  time 
the  poor  mad  beggar  will  stand  in  the 


TWO    CARLOS.  133 

streets  of  the  Eternal  City,  and  that  the 
Father,  who  looks  down  upon  him  now 
with  a  pitying  heart,  will  say,  with  a  wel- 
coming sraile, 

"  Carlo,  the  lost  is  found." 


THE   PRINCESS    ETHEL- 

EVEE  and  ever  so  many  years  ago,  Eng- 
land was  divided  into  seven  little  King- 
doms, whose  names  are  so  long  and  hard, 
that  I  never  have  been  able  to  learn  them, 
and  so  I  could  not  teach  them  to  you  even 
if  I  would. 

Over  one  of  these  Kingdoms,  which  we 
will  call  Wessex,  there  reigned  for  very 
many  years,  a  good,  great  and  gracious 
King,  named  Derrick. 

Now  Derrick  had  no  sons,  but  he  was 
blessed  with  three  daughters,  whose  names 
were  Ulrica,  Geneura,  and  Ethelinda,  who 
was  called  Ethel,  for  short;  Ulrica  was 
renowned  throughout  the  Kingdoms  for 
her  exceeding  beauty ;  Geneura  was  cele- 


THE   PRINCESS  ETHEL.  135 

brated  for  her  learning,  for  she  actually 
could  write  her  whole  name ;  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that  she  could  do  it  easily,  and 
\\  itliout  the  slightest  trouble,  but  that  she 
could  write  it,  if  she  had  plenty  of  time ; 
and  1  must  add  that  no  other  human  being 
in  all  Wessex  was  half  so  learned  as  the 
Princess  Geneura. 

As  for  Ethel,  the  youngest,  she  was 
neither  beautiful  nor  learned,  and  was 
celebrated  for  nothing,  unless  it  might  be 
for  her  large  mouth. 

The  religion  of  the  worthy  King  Derrick 
and  his  subjects,  so  far  as  they  had  any 
religion,  was  that  of  the  Druids;  it  was  a 
very  cruel  and  bloody  religion,  but  I  sup- 
pose the  Wessexians  must  have  been  well 
satisfied,  for  they  looked  very  coldly  upon 
some  good  Christian  monks  who  appeared 
in  Wessex,  and  who  tried  to  teach  them 
how  to  be  merciful,  and  meek  and  lowly  of 


136  NO  BABY  IN"  THE  HOUSE. 

heart ;  and  finally  threatened  to  till  them 
if  they  did  not  leave  the  Kingdom. 

Derrick's  good  Queen  and  his  three 
daughters  listened  to  the  teaching  of  the 
monks;  but  Ulrica  was  thinking  all  the 
time  how  very  becoming  her  new  sheep- 
skin dress  must  be ;  Geneura  declared,  in 
her  very  best  grammar,  that  their  story 
was  quite  impossible;  poor  young  Ethel 
listened  meekly  enough,  but  being  very 
slow-witted,  the  monks  despaired  of  her 
comprehending  them  ;  so  the  good  Queen 
alone  profited  by  their  teachings. 

After  a  while  the  poor  Queen  fell  sick ; 
so  very  sick  that  she  knew  she  could  not 
live;  then  she  sent  for  one  of  the  monks 
and  when  he  had  come  and  was  kneeling 
down  by  her  bedside,  she  said  to  him— 

"  Good  monk,  I  have  three  daughters ; 
one  is  so  beautiful,  that  many  would  be 
glad  to  protect  her,  one  is  so  very  learned 


THE  PRINCESS  ETHEL.  137 

that  she  can  protect  herself;  but  the  other 
is  plain  and  simple,  so  I  beg  of  you,  to 
give  up  to  her  a  talisman  which  will  pro- 
tect her  from  evil." 

The  monk  murmured  his  assent,  saying, 
"  to-morrow  gracious  Queen,"  and  went  his 
way;  sighing  to  think  how  little  his 
teachings  and  her  piety  had  availed  against 
her  heathen  education ;  for  the  good  man 
well  knew  the  value  of  charms  and  knew 
also  how  the  only  charm  against  trouble 
was  a  pure  and  trusting  heart. 

He  did  not  tell  this  to  the  Queen,  for  he 
knew  that  she  would  not  understand  him. 

That  very  night  the  Queen  died ;  and 
the  next  morning  as  the  monk  was  passing 
through  the  palace-garden,  he  saw  the 
poor  little  maiden,  for '•whom  the  amulet 
was  intended,  lying  upon  the  wet  ground, 
with  her  face  to  the  earth,  sobbing  as 
though  her  heart  were  broken. 


138  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

"  Poor  little  maiden !"  said  the  monk, 
kindly,  "  thou  hast  lost  thine  only  friend. 
But  weep  not  so  bitterly,  my  poor,  poor 
child,  weep  not  so  hard." 

But  still  the  Princess  wept,  and  for  a 
long  time  he  tried  vainly  to  comfort  her; 
but,  at  length,  being  obliged  to  return  to 
his  brethren,  he  pressed  the  talisman  into 
her  hand,  saying  tenderly,  as  he  did  so : 

"  Wear  it  next  thy  heart,  remember  the 
lesson  it  bears,  and,  truly,  neither  storms, 
nor  sin,  nor  wickedness,  shall  prevail 
against  it." 

Ethel  hid  the  talisman  in  her  robe,  and, 
when  she  went  into  the  house,  she  tied  it 
to  a  stout  string,  and  hung  it  about  her 
neck,  so  that  it  hung  just  over  her  heart. 

King  Derrick  mourned  his  good  Queen 
very  sincerely,  and  gave  her  remains  as 
grand  and  pompous  a  funeral  as  even 
Queens  could  have  in  those  times ;  a  funer- 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  139 

al  which  was  attended  by  all  the  court, 
and  by  all  of  the  nobility  of  Wessex,  as 
well  as  by  crowds  of  the  common  people. 

Even  Ulrica  forgot  her  world liness,  and 
Geneura  her  learning,  to  mourn  and  weep 
beside  the  grave  of  their  dear  mother ;  and 
Ethel  was  the  quietest  and  the  saddest 
little  Princess  in  all  the  Seven  Kingdoms, 
although  she  spoke  no  word. 

Indeed  she  wept  so  much  that  her  father, 
the  King,  said  one  day  to  her : 

"  My  child,  thou  must  be  ill,  for  around 
thy  blue  eyes  the  skin  is  swollen  and  red, 
and  thy  face  is  as  white  as  pearl." 

"  Thou  must  run  out  into  the  \\^oods, 
daughter,  and  breathe  the  sweet  air." 

The  King  looked  very  wise,  and  thought 
himself  very  acute,  but  little  Princess 
Ethel  smiled  sadly,  and  said  nothing. 

But  she  went,  in  accordance  with  his 
wishes,  out  into  the  open  vales,  and  the 


140  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

green  ancient  woods ;  at  first  the  King  or- 
dered a  guard  of  soldiers  to  protect  her  in 
her  rambles;  for  Wessex,  though  a  com- 
fortable little  kingdom,  was  anything  but 
free  from  robbers  and  outlaws,  and  quite 
infested  with  wolves  and  other  dangerous 
wild  animals. 

But  Ethel  not  being  accustomed  to  much 
royal  pomp  and  display,  was  not  only  em- 
barrassed but  actually  terrified  by  her  un- 
couth escort,  and  she  begged  her  father  to 
send  them  with  her  no  more. 

•"I'd  rather  go  alone,  dear  father,"  she 
cried. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  there  is  very  great 
danger,  my  little  one,  and  you  could  ill  pro- 
tect yourself." 

"  Ah  !"  she  replied,  "  I  am  protected  by 
a  potent  charm,  which  I  wear  next  to  my 
heart." 

So  the  King,  who  devoutly  believed  in 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL. 

charms  and  spells,  said  not  another  word  of 
danger;  neither  did  he  ask  her  who  had 
given  her  the  charm,  for  which  omission  on 
his  part,  she  was  very  glad,  and  when  the 
soldiers  were  told  that  their  services  would 
no  longer  be  required,  they  were  very 
glad,  too. 

Those  who  watched  Ethel  closely,  no- 
ticed that  she  soon  stopped  her  excursions 
into  the  grand  old  forest,  and  went  often  to 
the  little  village  near  the  castle ;  that  she 
went  in  and  out  of  the  miserable  peasants' 
huts,  and  often  stopped  to  speak  with 
them  at  their  labor. 

Then  those  who  remarked  it,  laughed 
merrily  between  themselves,  and  guessed 
that  the  young  Princess  found  her  talisman 
powerless  against  even  a  field-mouse,  so 
that  she  dared  not  trust  it  in  an  encounter 
with  bears  or  wolves. 

This  was  a  very  ill-natured  speech  to 


142  NO   BABY  IS  THE   HOUSE. 

make,  but  it  was  made  because  the  true 
reason  could  not  be  guessed  at ;  how  cou)d 
they  know  why  it  was  that  Ethel  went 
into  the  wretched  huts,  and  helped  and 
comforted  the  peasants  and  their  wives ;  or 
why  she  sold  the  great  gold  ring  which 
her  father  had  given  her,  in  order  to  buy 
grain  for  the  starving  laborers  to  eat  ? 

One  day,  as  she  was  strolling  about  in 
the  forest,  gathering  the  fair  wild  flowers, 
whose  beauty  was  unseen  by  any  other's 
eyes  beside  hers,  she  put  her  hand  to  her 
heart,  as  if  to  still  the  cruel  pain  which 
had  been  gnawing  there  ever  since  the 
the  day  her  mother  left  her,  and  she 
pressed  her  hand  against  the  charm  which 
the  monk  had  given  her,  and  which  she 
wore  over  her  heart;  and  suddenly  there 
flashed  through  her  mind  the  words  of 
the  good  man,  "  Eemember  the  lesson  it 
bears." 
\ 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  143 

"  The  lesson  !"  she  murmured  ;  "  what 
lesson,  I  know  not  truly  !  only  I  would 
serve  him  who  loved  me  so  well,  and  whom 
I  know  my  mother  loved  so  well." 

And  then  she  remembered  suddenly, 
other  words  which  had  been  spoken  by 
that  same  good  monk,  and  which  he  had 
told  her,  had  been  uttered  by  the  lips  of 
our  dear  Lord  himself — "  The  poor  ye  have 
always  with  you." 

The  pain  at  her  heart  ceased  then,  and 
a  blessed  warmth  and  peace  came  suddenly 
over  the  poor  young  Princess,  and  she  nev- 
er doubted  for  an  instant  but  that  she  had 
remembered  the  lesson  it  bore. 

This  was  why  she  went  among  the  slaves 
and  peasants  of  the  village,  and  bore  with- 
out a  murmur  the  wonder  of  Ulrica,  the 
disgust  of  Geneura,  and  the  anger  of  her 
father ;  for  King  Derrick  was  exceedingly 
angry  with  Ethel,  when  he  heard  of  her 


144  NO  BABY   IN   THE  HOUSE. 

charity,  and  lie  sternly  forbade  her  going ; 
but,  although  she  prized  the  love  of  her 
father,  and  feared  the  displeasure  of  her 
King,  yet  she  loved  and  feared  her  Heaven- 
ly Father  yet  more,  so  she  went,  still  in  her 
plain,  old,  dress,  with  her  quiet,  g  rave  ways, 
into  the  huts  and  hovels  of  the  poor,  whom 
she  had  "always  with  her." 

Thrice  the  King  reproved  her,  and  for- 
bade her;  but,  though  she  hung  her  head, 
and  said  only,  "  dear  father  I  do  so  love  the 
poor,"  yet  again  and  again  she  disobeyed 
his  injunctions,  until  his  patience  was  ex- 
hausted. 

One  day  as  the  three  Princesses  were 
working  with  their  needles,  an  usher  en- 
tered and  informed  them  that  their  com- 
pany was  required  in  the  presence-cham- 
4ber,  as  soon  as  might  be. 

So  the  three  maidens  hastened  and  ar- 
rayed themselves  in  their  finest  state-robes, 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  145 

and  entered  the  presence-chamber  one  after 
another. 

The  room  was  crowded  with  lords  and 
barons,  while  Derrick  sat  upon  his  throne 
draped  with  crimson  drapery,  with  his 
grandest  state-robes,  and  his  jewelled 
crown,  looking,  in  truth,  quite  a  different 
being  from  the  Derrick  who  lounged  about 
the  palace  in  the  mornings,  in  the  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers  of  those  days. 

The  three  maidens  came  forward  and 
stood  in  front  of  the  throne;  then  the  King 
said : — 

"Four  and  twenty  years  ago  to-day,  I 
became  king  of  Wessex,  and  upon  this  day 
for  four  and  twenty  years,  I  have  given 
gifts  to  three  of  my  subjects.  Last  year  it 
was  to  the  three  lords  of  Gwinned,  Kupert, 
and  Welwyk  I  gave  gifts,  and  this  year  I 
desire  to  give  them  to  my  three  daught 


ers." 


[Hit!  7 1 


146  ^0  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

The  barons  and  lords  cheered  and  shout- 
ed, then  king  Derrick  said  : — 

"  Ulrica,  stand  forth !"  Ulrica  stepped 
forward  a  little,  when  Derrick  said, 
"  Ulrica,  what  upon  earth  dost  thou  love 
the  best?" 

And  Ulrica  replied,  I  love  best  beauty 
and  beautiful  things,  for  they  give  joy  to 
old  and  to  young,  to  rich  and  to  poor." 

Then  Derrick  took  from  a  table  beside 
him  a  beautiful  necklace  set  with  large 
pearls,  and  he  fastened  it  around  her  white 
neck,  saying,  "  In  all  my  kingdom,  I  ween 
there  is  no  fairer  thing  than  this." 

Ulrica  was  quite  overwhelmed  with  de- 
light, so  stooping  to  her  knees,  she  kissed 
the  King's  hand  saying,  "thanks,  dear 
father  and  King !" 

Then  Derrick  said  to  his  second  daughter, 
"  Geneura,  stand  forth  1" 

As  Geneura  with  burning  cheeks  stepped 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  147 

forward,  the  King  said  to  her,  "  Geneura, 
what  upon  earth  dost  thou  love  the 
best  ?" 

Geneura  answered,  "I  have  searched  dil- 
igently for  knowledge  in  many  places,  and 
I  find  that  the  thing  most  to  be  loved  by 
men,  is  gold." 

King  Derrick  said,  "  my  treasurer  shall 
give  to  thee,  Geneura,  five  large  bags  of  the 
gold  thou  dost  love." 

Geneura  knelt,  pressed  her  lips  to  his 
hand,  and  said : 

"  Thanks,  dear  father  and  king !" 

King  Derrick  then  said  to  his  youngest 
daughter : 

"  Ethel,  stand  forth  !" 

Ethel  did  as  she  was  bid,  her  father  say- 
ing to  her,  as  to  the  others : 

"  Ethelinda,  what  upon  earth  dost  thou 
love  the  best  ?" 

Ethel  answered : 


148  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

"  I  love  best  the  poor,  and,  next  to  them, 
you,  dear  father !" 

The  timid  little  heart  beat  quickly  and 
hopefully,  but  the  king  replied,  wrathfully : 

"  To  thee  I  will  give  a  coarse  black  robe, 
and  a  knotted  rope  for  a  girdle,  and  thou 
shalt  leave  the  gates  of  this  palace  at  sun- 
down, and  go  amongst  thy  poor." 

Poor  Ethel  felt  that  this  was  hard  to 
bear,  but  she  was  proud,  if  she  was  neither 
fair  nor  wise ;  so  proud,  that  she  forced 
back  the  ready  tears  from  her  eyes,  and 
forced  her  voice  to  be  calm,  as  she  an- 
swered, kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  throne, 
and  kissing  the  king's  hand : 

"  Thanks,  dear  father  and  king !" 

The  great  room  was  silent ;  the  lords  and 
barons  looked  at  one  another,  astonished ; 
Ulrica  and  Geneura  exchanged  glances; 
when  the  king  arose,  and  said : 

"  Make  way  there  for  the  princesses." 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  149 

So  they  passed  out ;  and  when  sad  Ethel 
saw  how  glad  and  triumphant  her  sisters 
were,  she  tried  to  look  the  same,  so  that  no 
one  need  think  it  needful  to  pity  her. 

The  lords  and  barons  were  all  more  or 
less  dismayed  and  disgusted  at  the  idea  of 
a  princess  of  the  blood  royal  being  turned 
out  of  the  palace  in  a  slave's  dress,  to  herd 
with  slaves ;  but  none  of  them  had  courage 
enough  to  tell  him  so,  for  he  never  revoked 
his  words,  and  might  make  them  suffer  for 
their  interference  besides. 

So,  at  sundown,  Ethel  went  gravely  and 
proudly  out  of  the  palace  gates,  arrayed  in 
the  coarse  black  gown,  and  with  the  girdle 
of  knotted  cord  around  her  waist. 

No  one  sighed  for  her,  no  one  helped 
her,  no  one  bade  her  God-speed ;  but  there 
was  a  voice  within  which  upheld  her,  and 
upon  her  heart  rested  the  monk's  talisman. 

The  sun  sank  very  fast,  and  it  was  quite 


150  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

dark  before  she  was  half-way  to  the  vil- 
lage, where  she  meant  to  stay  that  night. 
In  vain  did  she  try  to  comfort  herself  with 
the  monk's  words : 

"  Wear  it  near  thy  heart,  remember  the 
lesson  it  bears,  and,  truly,  neither  storms, 
nor  sin,  nor  wickedness,  shall  prevail 
against  it." 

In  vain  she  pressed  the  precious  charm 
closer  and  closer  to  her  heart.  Despite  her 
efforts,  pride  and  courage  gave  way,  and 
she  crouched  upon  the  ground  with  her 
face  to  the  wet  grass,  and  wept,  very,  very 
bitterly. 

After  a  while,  she  staggered  up  and  on, 
but  had  proceeded  but  a  little  way  when 
two  robbers  sprang  out  from  the  darkness, 
and*  each  seizing  an  arm,  they  dragged  her 
to  where  their  chief  was  carousing. 

But,  so  appealing  is  charity,  so  self- 
speaking  are  good  deeds,  that  the  half- 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  151 

barbarian  outlaw  knew  her  to  be  the  good 
princess  Ethel,  when  his  eyes  first  rested 
upon  her. 

To  make  sure,  however,  he  asked  her : 

"  Who  art  thou  3" 

To  which  Ethel,  half-dead  with  terror, 
answered : 

"  I  am  Ethelinda,  daughter  of  Derrick, 
king  of  this  kingdom  of  Wessex." 

"  Where  goest  thou  ?"  said  the  outlaw. 

"  Unto  the  village,  to  seek  for  shelter," 
she  replied. 

"Ay,"  said  the  robber,  "  and  so  thou 
shalt,  for  well  I  know  how  you  saved  my 
mother  from  starving;  therefore,  two  of 
my  men  shall  see  you  there  safely,  and  may 
harm  never  befall  you!"  With  that  he 
called  the  two  men  who  had  captured  her, 
told  them  what  he  wished,  and  bade  them 
go.  They  little  liked  the  task,  but  they 
performed  the  duty  faithfully. 


152  NO  BABY  IN   THE   HOUSE. 

The  poor,  always  help  the  poor. 

Though  Princess  Ethel  wandered  and 
suffered  much,  yet  she  never  suffered  the 
pangs  of  hunger,  nor  knew  the  time  when 
her  head  lacked  shelter.  She  often  found 
the  least  gratitude  where  she  gave  the 
greatest  kindness;  and,  where  the  favors 
were  but  small,  she  often  received  the 
warmest  and  truest  thankfulness. 

Sometimes  her  heart  would  be  quite 
sick,  and  she  would  sigh  for  the  fine  palace 
of  her  father,  but  she  always  found  that 
the  talisman  had  a  wonderful  power  of  up- 
holding and  comforting;  and,  though  she 
wandered  to  and  fro  for  many  years,  until 
her  young  face  was  old  and  sober,  and  her 
brown  cheeks  brown  and  wrinkled;  al- 
though the  poor  were,  indeed,  always  with 
her;  though  storms,  and  sin,  and  wicked- 
ness surrounded  her,  the  words  of  the 
good  monk  were  never  found  false,  and 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  153 

none  of  these  harms  could  ever  prevail 
against  that  charm  which  she  wore  next 
her  heart,  and  whose  lesson  she  had  re- 
membered at  such  cost. 

PART    SECOND. 

DERRICK,  king  of  Wessex,  weary  of  court 
life,  and  lonely  without  his  three  children 
(for  both  Ulrica  and  Geneura  were  married 
and  gone),  announced  to  the  lords  and 
barons  of  his  court,  that  he  was  about  to 
retire  to  private  life  for  a  little  while. 
His  two  well-beloved  sons-in-law,  Lords 
Rupert  and  Welwyk,  would  manage  the 
business,  he  said,  while  he  was  gone. 

Many  were  the  wonders,  the  cogitations, 
the  suggestions,  and  the  doubts  expressed, 
when  this  resolution  was  made  known. 
Everybody  had  an  opinion  to  offer,  ex- 
cepting the  two  sons-in-law,  who  alone 
knew  the  true  reason. 

7* 


154  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

The  truth  was,  Derrick  had  been  told 
that  the  holy  and  sacred  religion  of  the 
Druids  was  fast  losing  ground  in  Wessex, 
and  that  all  the  common  people,  as  well  as 
very  many  nobles,  had  openly,  or  secretly, 
declared  their  belief  in  Jesus  Christ. 

This  religion  had  been  spread  abroad,  it 
was  said,  chiefly  through  a  certain  woman 
called  Ethel,  the  Christian,  and  now  the 
Druid  priests  demanded  the  life  of  this 
woman  from  the  worthy  Derrick.  But 
Derrick,  though  not  very  soft-hearted  usu- 
ally, refused  to  have  this  woman  executed; 
for  he  believed  in  his  heart  that  Ethel,  the 
Christian,  was  no  other  than  Ethelinda, 
youngest  daughter  of  the  king  of  Wessex. 

So,  without  saying  a  word  to  any  one 
but  his  sons-in-law,  he  determined  to  seek 
out  his  child  himself,  and  went  out  of  the 
palace-gate  at  sundown,  without  saying  a 
word  to  any  one,  but  swearing,  by  the 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  155 

sacred  number  seven,  never  to  return,  save 

« 

at  sunrise,  with  Ethel  by  his  side. 

He  wandered  to  and  fro,  hither  and 
thither ;  learning  very  many  new  things,  en- 
during many  hardships,  seeing  many  abuses 
of  power,  beholding  much  misery;  but, 
though  he  heard  blessings  showered  down 
upon  the  head  of  Ethel — though  he  found 
scarcely  a  hut,  however  wretched,  that 
knew  her  not, — yet  never  once  did  his 
wearied  eyes  rest  upon  her  face,  never 
once  did  his  tired  hand  grasp  hers,  and, 
truly,  his  old  heart  was  sick  with  wait- 
ing. 

One  night  Derrick  slept  upon  the  ground 
by  the  roadside,  near  to  a  tall  castle  whose 
name  he  did  not  know.  He  dreamed  that 
he  was  beset  by  robbers,  and  beaten  cruel- 
ly ;  that,  as  he  lay  upon  the  ground  moan- 
ing, he  heard  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet,  and 
called  out : 


156  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

"  Hold,  brother,  and  give  me  help,  for  I 
have  been  robbed  and  beaten  !" 

"  Robbed  and  beaten !"  answered  the 
horseman,  whose  voice  sounded  strangely 
like  the  Princess  Ulrica's,  a  then  thou  art 
not  beautiful  to  see  !  Farewell !" 

Poor  Derrick  groaned  dismally,  as  he 
heard  the  clatter  of  the  horses'  feet  die 
away  in  the  distance. 

The  dews  fell  heavily,  his  battered  frame 
ached  dreadfully,  and  there  appeared  to  be 
no  hope  for  him,  when  he  heard  the  sound 
of  another  approaching  horseman.  Gather- 
ing all  his  strength,  he  cried  out : 

"  Help,  for  I  have  been  robbed  and 
beaten !" 

But  the  horseman  would  not  stop,  and 
called  out,  as  he  went  by,  in  a  voice  pre- 
cisely like  the  Princess  Geneura's : 

"  Time  is  money  !   Time  is  money  !" 

He  paid  no  attention  to  the  howl  of  pain 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  157 

and  indignation  which  burst  from  the  lips 
of  the  unfortunate  Derrick,  but  disappeared 
in  the  darkness. 

The  king  knew  no  more  until  he  opened 
his  eyes  in  the  dull  dawn,  to  find  his 
wounds  quite  imaginary ;  but  a  sweet  face 
was  bending  over  him,  sadly  changed,  yet 
well  known,  and  a  sweet  voice,  not  changed 
at  all,  said : 

"  First,  the  poor,  and  then,  thee,  dear 
father  ;  but  thou  first,  when  thou  art  poor." 

King  Derrick  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
caught  his  child  to  his  heart,  telling  her, 
in  a  very  confused  and  foolish,  but  happy 
way,  how  sorry  and  glad,  how  miserable 
and  delighted,  he  was. 

"  Ho  !"  he  cried,  "  is  not  that  the  castle 
of  Ouse  ?  Strange  it  is,  I  knew  it  not  last 
night !  Come,  child,  the  sun  is  rising ; 
thou  art  by  my  side,  and  so,  now,  let  us 
be  going. 


158  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

So  they  went  straight  in  to  the  great 
dining-hall,  where  all  the  court  was  break- 
fasting ;  and,  when  they  saw  King  Derrick 
and  his  daughter,  they  gave  a  great  shout, 
that  made  the  hall  ring;  then  the  king 
said,  gravely : 

"  We  have  all  returned  safely ;"  then, 
to  Ethel :  "  My  child,  thou  hast  passed 
through  many  dangers,  unscathed.  Tell 
me  now,  I  beg,  who  and  what  has  pro- 
tected thee?" 

Ethel  replied,  modestly: 

"  The  poor  have  protected  me,  and  this, 
my  charm." 

She  put  into  his  hand  that  talisman 
which  had  protected  her,  and  which  she 
had  found  powerful  wherever,  she  went. 
It  was  but  a  cross  of  silver,  rudely  and 
roughly  wrought,  but  neither  storms,  nor 
sin,  nor  wickedness,  had  prevailed  against 
it. 


THE    PRINCESS    ETHEL.  159 

King  Derrick  looked  at  it  curiously, 
then  pressed  it  to  bis  lips,  and  said  : 

"  So  truly  do  I  love  thee,  dear  daughter, 
that,  for  the  poor  having  protected  thee,  I 
will  henceforth  protect  them;  and,  since 
this  cross  has  protected  thee,  I  will  here- 
after protect  it,  and  those  who  wear  it. 

"  Since  thou  art  a  Christian,  I  will  also 
be  a  Christian  ;  and  the  faith  I  accept,  the 
badge  I  follow,  my  subjects  will  accept 
and  follow." 

Then  the  hall  shook  with  another  tre- 
mendous shout  and  cheer;  and  all  the 
lords  and  barons  of  "Wessex  abandoned 
the  faith  of  their  fathers,  and  became  as 
good  Christians  as  they  could. 

For  very  many  years,  Derrick,  and  his 
maiden  daughter,  Ethel,  lived  in  the  castle 
and  ,  palace  of  Ouse;  and  when  at  last 
Ethel  died,  as  we  all  must  die,  sooner  or 
later,  Rupert,  who  was  then  king  of  Wes- 


160  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

sex,  and  Ulrica,  his  queen,  had  graven  on 
the  stone  slab  over  her  grave : 
•  "  The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you." 

And  upon  the  stone  cross,  at  the  head 
of  the  grave,  was  graven  : 

/'Kemember  the  lesson  it  bears;  and, 
truly,  neither  storms,  nor  sin,  nor  wicked- 
ness, shall  prevail  against  it." 


THE  DEAD  BIRD. 

POOR  little  hands,  dropped  downward, 

Dear  little  face,  so  sad ; 
Red  lips,  with  a  pitiful  quiver;— 

Too  bad,  little  Dickey,  to.)  bad^ 
Two  round  chubby  clu-cks,  all  dripping  ; 

A  chest  that  is  heaving  with  sobs  ; 
And  the  mocking  splendor  of  tear-drops, 

On  the  gilded  wires  and  knobs. 


Tender-hearted  one,  be  not  so  woeful; 

Wreathe  not  in  sorrow  thy  lace  ; 
For  a  new  birdie.,  saver  and  brighter, 

To-morrow  shall  sing  in  its  place. 
Let  me  wipe  off  the  pitying  tear-drops; 

Tears,  precious,  can  nothing  avail, 
And  it  never  yet  drove  away  trouble, 

To  clasp  her  cold  hand,  and  bewail. 

The  butterflies  ont  in  the  sunshine, 

The  baby-cloud  shadows  that  pass, 
The  crocuses  down  in  the  meadow, 

The  daisies  that  shine  in  the  grass, 
Are  all  very  weary  of  waiting 

For  their  dear  little  playmate  to  come ; 
And  if  you  don't  hasten,  my  darling, 

They'll  all  fall  asleep  in  the  sun. 

Alas!  can  I  bring  yon  no  comfort? 

Must  affection  and  tenderness  fail  ? 
Have  silver  and  gold  lost  their  magic, 

Can  the  powerful  nothing  avail? 
Are  the  tears  1  wipe  away,  leaving 

But  furrows  where  others  will  start? 
Must  the  little  pet's  house  remain  empty, 

And  empty  its  place  in  thy  heart? 

Ah  1  Heaven  will  listen  and  pity, 

And  the  grief  will  vanish  away  I 
What!  never  can  cease  to  be  sorry, 

For  scolding  him  but  yesterday? 
But,  how  healing  a  balm  is  repentance! 

God's  messengers,  smiling,  we  trust, 
Now  gather  these  angelic  jewels, 

As  treasures  that  never  will  rust. 


CROSS  CHRISTIE. 

SHE  lived  away  up  in  the  attic  with  her 
poor,  feeble,  old  grandmother;  in  the  attic 
of  her  Uncle  John's  fine  house,  whose 
floors  were  covered  with  soft  carpets,  whose 
windows  were  hung  with  lace,  and  whose 
parlors  were  brilliant  with  mirrors;  that 
fine  house,  which  everybody  admired,  and 
neither  knew,  nor  cared  if  they  did  know, 
that  Mr.  John  Hartley's  mother  and  niece 
lived  together  away  up  in  the  attic. 

His  two  children  were  very  much  ad- 
mired; although,  to  tell  the  truth,  the 
boys  and  girls  at  school  called  them  unsa- 
vory names, — said  they  were  mean,  and 
stingy,  and  "stuck-up." 

But  those  friends,  who  sat  by  his  fireside, 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  163 

and  dined  at  his  table,  called  them  pretty 
children,  and  bright  children,  and  dear,.good, 
sweet  children,  but  nobody  ever  said  such 
kind  things  of  Christie. 

So  she  grew  up  shy,  and  pale,  and  very 
sober,  in  the  high  ill-furnished  attic ;  thought 
of  by  no  one ;  cared  for  by  no  one ;  wearing 
her  little  dresses  until  they  almost  dropped  to 
pieces,  and  never  dreaming  of  asking  for  new. 

And  the  poor  old  grandmother  !  what 
would  she  have  done,  half-blind,  and  so 
very  feeble  as  she  was,  had  it  not  been  for 
that  pair  of  small  brown  hands ;  those 
willing,  busy,  loving  hands,  which  swept 
the  hearth,  arranged  the  scanty  furniture, 
and  served  their  solitary  meals  ;  the  gentle 
little  hands,  whose  touch  never  failed  to 
ease  the  pain  in  the  wrinkled  forehead,  and 
which  were  never  careless  or  awkward. 

The  blinded  eyes  could  not  see  how- quiet 
and  pale  the  little  handmaiden  was,  nor 


164  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

how  she  grew  paler  and  plainer  day  by 
day ;  never  saw  the  little  lips  repress  the 
sigh  of  weariness,  when  the  oft-repeated 
prattle  of  merry  childhood,  joyous  youth, 
and  happy  prime,  was  repeated  for  the 
hundredth  time ;  and  never  saw,  poor,  old 
eyes,  how  Christie's  eyes  grew  moist,  and 
Christie's  cheeks  flushed,  when  the  aged  one 
was  over-fretful  or  over-querulous. 

Her  two  cousins,  George  Hartley  and 
his  proud  sister  Annie,  called  her  cross, 
because  she  was  shy  and  sober;  and  from 
Annie's  "  Oh  you  cross  thing ! "  they  got  to 
calling  her  "  Crosspatch  !"  and  at  last  never 
thought  of  calling  her  any  thing  else. 

Old  Mrs.  Hartley  was  feeble  and  ner- 
vous, so  Christie  never  would  allow  her 
noisy  cousins  to  come  up-stairs  where  she 
was,  and  even  once  took  courage  to  appeal 
to  her  Uncle  John  against  them ;  which 
earned  them  a  scolding,  so  they  called  her 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  165 

"  Crosspatch,"  oftener  and  louder  than 
ever. 

"Grandmother,"  said  Christie,  one  morn- 
ing, as  she  sat  by  the  window,  in  a  flood  of 
sunshine,  sewing  on  some  little  bit  of  sew- 
ing, "  I  had  a  pretty  dream  last  night." 

"Well,  dear?"  said  the  old  lady,  all 
attention. 

"I  dreamed,"  said  Christie,  waving  her 
foot  to  and  fro  in  a  little  shadow  on  the 
floor,  "  that  I  came  in  here  to  find  you,  and 
you  were  gone.  I  called  you  and  hunted 
for  you,  but  I  couldn't  find  you,  so  I  went 
down  stairs  to  tell  Uncle  John  ;  when  I 
told  him  I  dreamed  that,  he  turned  away 
from  me  and  went  out  the  door. 

"  Then  I  was  more  sad  and  frightened 
than  ever,  but  I  came  up-stairs  again ;  and 
when  I  opened  the  door  you  were  stand- 
ing right  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

I  was  going  to  run  to  you,  but  I  couldn't , 


166  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

then  I  saw  how  you  was  beautiful  in  your 
face,  without  any  wrinkles ;  and  you  stood 
up  straight,  and  your  hair  wasn't  gray  any 
more. 

"  I  thought  I  held  out  my  hands  to  you, 
and  cried  out, '  Grandmother !'  but  my  feet 
seemed  to  have  grown  to  the  floor ;  then  I 
thought  you  began  to  cry  and  wring  your 
hands;  and  I  felt  so  badly  to  see  you  cry, 
that  I  cried  too. 

"  Then  I  thought  I  felt  something  heavy 
on  my  shoulders,  that  bent  me  all  down, 
but,  though  I  turned  my  head  as  far  around 
as  I  could,  to  see  it,  and  take  it  off,  yet  I 
could  neither  see  nor  touch  it. 

"Then  I  cried  harder  and  harder,  but  1 
thought  you  came  up  and  wiped  my  eyes, 
and  told  me  if  I  was  patient  and  didn't  cry, 
it  would  not  be  heavy  any  more. 

"  Then  Uncle  John  came  in,  and  put  his 
hand  on  it,  and  made  it  heavy  again ;  and 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  167 

I  dreamed  that  you  cried  when  you  saw 
him,  but  you  said, — '  Bear  it  patiently,  dear 
Christie.7 

"  Then  I  looked  around  again,  and  I  saw 
that  it  was  a  cross,  like  there  is  on  your 
Bible  ;  and  you  said  again — 

"  '  Bear  it  patiently,  dear  Christie ;'  and 
then  I  looked  at  you,  and  saw  there  was 
sunshine  all  round  your  head. 

"  And  I  was  so  happy,  for  I  thought  it 
was  round  my  head,  too,  and  the  cross  was 
lighter  than  nothing  on  my  back. 

"  Then  I  woke  up. 

"  Wasn't  that  a  pretty  dream  ?  I  thought 
it  was  too  bad  for  me  to  wake  up,  when 
the  dream  was  so  pleasant  and  pretty." 

"Bless  the  child!  She  has  seen  the 
shadow  of  Death !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hart- 
ley. 

"What?"  said  Christie,  but  her  grand- 
mother  did  not  answer;  so  the  little  girl 


168  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

sang  softly  her  "blithe  little  song,  and  saw 
only  the  shadow  which  was  on  the  floor. 

But  the  shadow  had  fallen  on  the  inva- 
lid, for  it  was  only  a  few  weeks  before  she 
was  carried  down  stairs,  white  and  cold, 
into  the  grand  parlor,  into  which  she  never 
had  gone  during  her  lifetime ;  and  her  son 
John,  and  his  wife  and  children, gave  her  a 
few  tears  in  her  death,  though  they  had 
given  her  no  smiles  in  her  life. 

Mrs.  Hartley  wiped  away  the  tears  from 
her  children's  eyes  with  her  soft  cambric 
handkerchief,  and  wondered  why  Christie 
did  not  cry;  the  little  girl  had  lost  her 
only  friend,  yet  she  sat  there  with  her 
brown  hands  folded  on  her  black  dress,  and 
her  eyes  cast  down,  dry  and  tearless. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  tears  fell  into 
her  heart,  and  were  frozen  there;  and  all 
she  could  think  of,  was  that  dear  face,  so 
cold,  that  was  to  be  buried  out  of  sight — 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  169 

that  never  could  be  loved,  or  tended,  or 
cared  for,  by  that  loving  heart  again. 

As  they  stood  by  the  grave,  as  the  spade- 
fuls of  earth  rattled  on  the  coffin,  the  fair- 
haired  young  preacher  read  the  words — 

"  Dust  to  dust,  and  ashes  to  ashes."  And 
his  voice  trembled,  for  he  saw  Christie's 
stony  eyes  and  pallid  cheeks,  and  his  eyes 
grew  wet  with  tears, — the  only  tears  shed 
by  that  open  grave,  and  those  were  for  the 
living — not  the  dead ; — for  the  poor  little 
girl  whose  grief  was  beyond  tears. 

"  What  will  we  do  with  her  ?"  was  the 
question  which  her  Aunt  Emma  asked,  a 
few  days  after  the  funeral. 

Mr.  Hartley  thought  of  sending  her  to  a 
cheap  boarding-school,  but  his  wife  shook 
her  head,  and  said  he  had  much  better  get 
her  a  place  as  a  nurse-girl. 

Ho  hesitated  at  first,  for  she  was  his  only 
sister's  only  child,  but  at  last  he  took  his 


170  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

wife's  advice,  and  called  at  the  office  the 
next  morning,  as  he  went  down  town. 

"  I — ah  !  I  want — "  he  hesitated,  "  to  put 
a  little  girl  out  as  a  nurse-girl." 

The  man  pulled  out  his "  "big  book ; 
"  Nurse-girl,  nurse-girl,"  he  said,  as  though 
he  was  afraid  of  forgetting  it ;  "  nurse-girl, 
nurse-girl," — and  he  ran  his  finger  quickly 
down  the  edge  of  the  pages ;  "  nurse-girl, 
nurse — oh  yes,  here's  one." 

"'Mrs.  Millet,'"  he  read  from  the  book, 
"<  House  No.  138  Taylor  Street,  private 
boarding-house. 

" l  One  child,  two  and  a  half  years  old ; 
terms — board,  and  ten  dollars  a  month.7 
But  she'll  pick  up  lots  of  things  by  the  way 
of  presents,  if  she's  anyways  bright  and 
pretty,"  added  the  man. 

Mr.  Hartley  shook  Iris  head.  "Any 
other  ?"  he  asked. 


CROSS  CHRISTIE. 

The  man  resumed  his  searching,  but 
stopped  after  a  few  moments. 

"  Yes,  here's  another,"  he  said,  "  but  I 
don't  know  as  you'll "  then  he  read— 

"'Mrs.  Bunker,  house  No.  5  Ellen  Street, 
two  children ;  terms — board  and  clothes.' " 

He  looked  up  at  Mr.  Hartley. 

"If  you  just  want  a  home  for  the  child, 
and  don't  care  for  her  to  make  money,  this 
is  a  good  place.  The  woman  is  of  the  nicer 
sort,  and  won't  be  hard  on  her,  I  guess." 

"  Well,"  said  the  inquirer,  "  I  think  that 
will  do.  Just  give  me  the  address,  please, 
and  I'll  go  and  see  her." 

The  man  did  so,  and  eyed  his  customer 
sharply  at  the  same  time ;  but  he  made  no 
remark. 

Mrs.  Bunker  was  thin  and  sharp  in  her 
person  as  well  as  her  manner,  and  poor, 
quiet  Christie,  used  only  to  her  grand- 


172  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

mother's  feeble  and  tender  voice,  was  sadly 
afraid  of  her. 

She  had  a  very  hard  time  at  No.  5  Ellen 
Street,  for  those  two  children  were  equal 
to  five  ordinary  ones,  and  Mrs.  Bunker 
had  such  a  passion  for  having  things 
tidy,  and  such  an  objection  to  work,  that 
it  made  a  heavy  load  for  those  little 
shoulders. 

She  thought  often  and  often  of  her 
dream  ; — "  Bear  it  patiently,  Christie  !" 
often  rang  in  her  ears  in  those  weary  days 
when  Johnnie  was  so  heavy,  and  Katie  so 
self-willed  and  saucy ;  when  from  the  time 
the  sun  rose  until  long  after  it  set,  the  feet 
were  on  the  treadmill,  and  were  so  often 
pierced  with  thorns;  and  the  hands  and 
arms  were  tired  so  much  that  the  short 
night's  sleep  was  not  enough  to  rest  them ; 
when  punishment  never  failed,  and  rewards 
never  came. 


CROSS  CHRISTIE. 

Yes,  she  had  a  hard  time,  aud  she  was  not 
strong  ;  yet  she  bore  it  very  patiently. 

After  she  was  once  off  his  hands,  Uncle 
John  Hartley  never  troubled  himself  con- 
cerning her,  although  once  or  twice,  in 

O  7  O  / 

speaking  of  her  to  his  wife,  he  said :  "  Sup 
pose  George  should  come  back." 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Hartley  would  answer, 
"suppose  he  does?  He  can  do  just  as  he 
likes ;  we  are  not  to  answer  to  him  for  the 
child,  are  we  ?" 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  would  be  the 
reply.  But  neither  Mrs.  Hartley  nor  her 
husband  seemed  to  remember  whom  they 
would  have  to  answer  to ;  neither  thought 
of  that  Father  whose  loving  eye  was  over 
his  child,  and  who  sent  his  blessing 
upon  her,  because  she  bore  His  burdens 
patiently. 

Every  night,  after  the  heavy  baby  and 
the  restless,  troublesome  girl  had  been  tuck- 


NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

ed  into  their  beds  and  gone  to  sleep,  when 
the  dishes  were  all  washed,  and  the  table 
set  for  morning,  Christie  would  slip  out 
from  the  back  door,  run  two  or  three 
squares  in  the  lamp-light,  a  little  piece  in 
the  dusk,  and  stop  before  the  church-yard, 
where  her  grandmother  was  buried. 

It  was  very,  very  dark  there,  but  the  little 
girl  was  not  afraid,  for  she  knew  no  reason 
why  she  should  be ;  the  tall  trees  bent  their 
long  slender  branches  down  over  her  head, 
and  whispered  as  the  air  swept  through 
them ;  and  the  little  girl  would  stop  to 
listen,  for  their  voices  were  sweet  and  soft, 
and  Mrs.  Bunker's  was  harsh  and  loud ; 
then,  besides,  she  fancied  they  whispered 
of  Heaven,  and  that  they  called  her  "  dear 
Christie,"  and  she  loved  them. 

Her  grandmother's  grave  was  covered 
with  soft,  short  grass,  and  when  Christie 
knelt  beside  it,  and  laid  her  thin  cheek  on 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  175 

the  cool  grass,  it  seemed  to  her  like  that 
aged  hand,  cool  and  tender,  which  had 
smoothed  that  little  cheek  lovingly  so 
often  ;  and  the  thought — she  was  a  simple 
child, — but  she  thought  that,  when  she 
whispered,  "  Grandmother,  grandmother," 
she  was  heard  and  answered  through  the 
sweet  voices  of  the  long-armed  trees.  Oh, 
no !  it  was  not  in  that  lonely,  quiet,  holy 
place  that  she  was  afraid  ;  the  little  birds 
peered  at  her,  with  their  bright,  round  eyes, 
over  the  edges  of  their  nests,  as  she  told 
her  little  trials — great  for  her  to  bear, — and 
shed  those  few  tears  that  eased  her  heart  so 
much,  but  she  fancied  they  were  sorry  for 
her,  and  she  was  not  afraid  of  them ;  it  was 
when  she  was  going  home,  and  curious  men 
and  women  stared  at  her  in  the  crowded 
streets,  that  she  was  afraid.  In  the  long 
summer  twilight,  when  she  went  to  the 
church-yard,  she  used  to  notice  a  boy  there, 


176  NO  BABY  IN"  THE  HOUSE. 

who,  like  herself,  seemed  forlorn  and  friend- 
less; but  he  tended  and  cried  over  two 
graves,  instead  of  one. 

He  was  a  very  tall  boy,  with  a  sad  and 
subdued  face,  and  large  brown  hands, 
which  were  crossed  in  front  of  him  when 
they  were  not  busy;  this  would  have 
made  him  odd  and  comical  in  the  eyes  of 
most  children,  but  Christie  felt  less  like 
laughing  than  crying  when  she  saw  him, 
for  he  bore  the  evident  marks  of  sorrow 
in  his  face. 

She  was  too  shy  to  speak  to  him,  and  he 
was  too  shy  to  speak  to  her,  but  each  was 
sorry  for  the  other,  and  looked  it,  although 
they  neither  of  them  spoke  it. 

One  day,  as  she  came  down  stairs  with 
the  heavy  baby  in  her  arms,  she  saw  some- 
body standing  in  the  hall,  talking  with  Mrs. 
Bunker;  something  in  his  attitude  struck 
her  as  familiar,  and  she  looked  the  second 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  177 

time ;  yes,  she  had  seen  many  times  those 
large,  meekly-crossed  hands,  and  the  grave, 
shy  face. 

"  How  are  your  two  brothers,  James, 
that  you  thought  so  much  of?"  asked  Mrs. 
Bunker. 

The  big  tears  started  into  his  eyes,  as  he 
answered : — 

"  I  have  no  brothers  now,  Mrs.  Bunker ; 
my  brothers  are  dead." 

The  tears  were  thick  in  Christie's  eyes, 
too,  as  she  heard  the  words,  and  he  must 
have  seen  them,  for  he  smiled  at  her  faint- 
ly through  his  tears. 

u  Well,  Miss,"  said  her  mistress,  turning 
around  at  her  sharply ;  "  what  do  you 
want  here  ?  Just  you  march  along,  and 
mind  your  own  business. 

"  No,  James,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  boy, 
"  tell  your  mother  that  I  keep  a  nurse-girl 

8* 


178  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

now,  such  as  she  is,  and  do  my  sewing 
myself." 

"  Isn't  she  a  good  girl  ?"  said  the  boy, 
wonderingly. 

"  Oh !  good  enough,  I  suppose,"  was  the 
answer ;  "  but  she's  a  cross,  peevish  piece. 
I  knew  she  was  that  before  she  came, 
but  I  took  her  out  of  charity." 

The  red  blood  flushed  up  hotly  in  that 
pale  little  cheek,  when  Christie  heard  these 
words;  she  hurried  down  the  hall  with 
Johnnie,  who  was  as  fat  as  she  was  thin, 
and  tried  to  forget  them,  but  they  would 
ring  in  her  ears. 

She  thought  of  her  Uncle  John  then,  too, 
and  of  her  cousins,  proud  and  rich,  while 
she  was  buffeted,  and  scolded,  and  made  to 
work  until  she  was  very  tired;  and  she 
wondered  why  it  should  be  so. 

She  remembered  her  grandmother's  teach- 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  179 

ings,  and  she  tried  to  be  meek  and  patient, 
but  she  found  it  very  hard  to  do. 

"I  took  her  out  of  charity !"— She 
thought  of  her  uncle's  fine  house,  of  her 
cousins'  fine  clothes,  and  she  knew  that  her 
heart  was  bitter  against  them. 

"  Cross  and  peevish!'7 — that  was  their 
work,  too ;  and  she  almost  hated  them 
then. 

Her  dream  was  coming  true,  perhaps, 
and  her  Uncle  John's  hand  did  make  the 
burden  heavier;  and  perhaps,  she  thought, 
her  dear  grandmother  was  crying  to  see 
her  little  girl  so  bent  and  weary. 

Still,  she  knew  she  was  wrong,  and  when 
she  crept  through  the  church  yard  that  even- 
ing, she  thought  the  trees  sighed  only,  but 
did  not  whisper  "  dear  Christie,"  to-night. 

The  more  she  murmured  at  her  hard  lot, 
the  more  unhappy  she  became;  she  shed 
more  tears,  by  far,  and  found  less  comfort 


180  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

in  them  ;  the  voices  in  the  trees  grew  fainter 
and  sadder  in  their  sighs,  and  the  world 
seemed  to  grow  dark  about  her. 

One  night,  as  she  stole  home  from  her 
grandmother's  grave,  earlier  than  usual, 
she  heard  a  voice  singing  sweetly  and 
softly.  She  stopped  and  listened,  for  she 
loved  sweet  music,  and  somehow  those 
gentle  tones  touched  her,  and  soothed  her 
troubled  and  angry  heart. 

It  was  a  tall,  old  house  before  which  she 
stopped  ;  and  even  Christie  could  see  that 
many  families  lived  in  it,  and  that  they 
were  all  poor;  here  and  there,  a  piece  of 
board  filled  the  place  of  a  broken  pane  of 
glass,  and  in  some  windows,  were  old  hats 
or  bundles  of  rags. 

Yet  that  voice  floated  down, — that 
sweet,  yet  strange  voice ;  and  after  a  little, 
she  could  tell  the  words  of  what  the  singer 
sang,  or  rather  chanted. 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  181 

"Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and 
are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest. 
I  will  give  you  rest." 

Christie  put  her  hands  before  her  face, 
and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall ;  "  I  will 
give  you  rest." 

"  Kest."  It  was  such  a  lovely  word,  and 
it  was  just  what  she  longed  for. 

She  had  heard  that  line  many  a  time,  and 
read  it  many  a  time ;  she  knew  well  that 
JESUS  spoke  it,  and  that  it  was  to  such  as 
she  that  he  spoke  :  "  All  ye  that  labor,  and 
are  heavy  laden."  And  she  was  both. 

Softly  the  voice  floated  down  upon  her ; 
little  knew  the  singer  of  the  unseen  listen- 
er to  his  song. 

"  Take  my  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of 
Me.  for  I  am  meek  and  lowly  of  heart ;  and 
ye  shall  find  rest." 

Christie  stayed  and  listened  as  long 
as  she  dared,  and  then  ran  home;  but 


182  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

all  the  next  day,  as  she  went  about  her 
work,  she  repeated  those  kind,  pitiful  words 
over  and  over  to  herself;  and,  somehow, 
the  baby  seemed  not  near  so  heavy,  the 
dishes  not  near  so  many,  the  mistress  not 
near  so  harsh. 

She  began  to  see  now  that,  if  she  had 
borne  her  cross  patiently  and  unmurmur- 
ingly,  it  would  not  have  been  near  so 
heavy  upon  her.  Her  grandmother  had 
said, — 

"Bear  it  patiently,  dear  Christie,"  and 
she  had  not  borne  it  patiently. 

The  next  night,  James,  as  Mrs.  Bunker 
called  the  tall  boy  whom  she  had  met  in 
the  churchyard,  was  tending  the  two  little 
graves,  when  Christie  knelt  by  her  grand- 
mother's; and  pretty  soon  he  came  over 
and  spoke  to  her. 

"Little  girl,"  he  said,  with  his  hands 
crossed  before  him,  in  his  odd,  old-fashioned 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  183 

way,    "  are    you   cross  ?      Why    are    you 
cross  3" 

"I  tiy  not  to  be,"   answered   Christie, 
humbly ;  "  but  I  have  very  much  to  make 


me." 


"Yes,"  answered  he,  "you  do.  What 
is  your  name,  and  whose  grave  is  this  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Christie,  and  this  is  my 
grandmother's  grave." 

"  My  name  is  James  Dean,"  said  he,  "  and 
those  two  little  graves  are  where  my  two 
dear  little  brothers  are  buried. 

"  I  loved  them  so  dearly,  and  worked  for 
them  so  hard,  but  they  died  a  month  apart ; 
and  now,"  he  added,  with  a  quivering  voice, 
"  my  dear  mother  is  dying.  But  yet  I  am 
not  cross,  little  girl." 

"  I  know,"  said  she,  "  I  know  your  roice 
now ;  it  is  the  one  which  sang,  '  Come  un- 
to Me/  last  night." 

"Yes,"  said   James,  "I  sang   that  last 


184:  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

night  to  mother,  and  that  is  the  reason,  you 
know,  why  I  am  not  cross,  because  I  take 
His  yoke  upon  me." 

It  was  odd  to  hear  him  talk  so  gravely 
and  sadly,  yet  earnestly ;  earnestly  indeed, 
for  his  words  comforted  Christie  then,  and 
long  afterward.  She  went  with  him  that 
night  to  see  his  pale,  gentle  mother,  whose 
sweet  voice  sounded  like  her  grandmother's, 
and  who  took  the  friendless  little  girl  quite 
to  her  heart. 

She  loved  to  see  the  tall  and  apparently 
awkward  boy,  lift  his  mother  tenderly  in 
his  arms,  and  care  for  her  as  handily  as 
Christie  could  do  ;  and  somehow,  in  help- 
ing, assisting,  and  loving  them,  in  her  spare 
time,  she  forgot  how  hard  a  time  she  had, 
and  the  burden  grew  to  be  as  light  as  noth- 
ing on  her  little  shoulders. 

One  day,  as  she  was  busily  washing 
dishes,  Mrs.  Bunker  came  in,  and,  telling 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  185 

her  that  her  uncle  was  in  the  parlor,  bade 
her  go  uand  tidy  herself,"  which  she  did 
rather  reluctantly;  for  Uncle  John  never 
had  visited  her  before,  and  she  could  not 
tell  why  he  should  come  now; — without 
knowing  why,  she  feared  him. 

But  when  she  came  shyly  into  the  parlor, 
she  saw,  not  her  Uncle  John,  but  another 
gentleman ;  a  kind-faced,  gray-bearded  man, 
who  said — 

"  So,  your  name  is  Christie  Collins,  is  it, 
my  dear  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she,  looking  at  him  earn- 
estly. 

"  And  my  name  is  George  Hartley,  your 
Uncle  George,  little  Christie,  come  to  love 
you  and  take  care  of  you,  all  the  way  from 
China." 

Mrs.  Bunker  heard  something  like  crying, 
as  she  listened  at  the  parlor  door;  and  she 
scolded  vigorously  a  little  while  afterward, 


186  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

when  Uncle  George  insisted  upon  Christie's 
going  away  right  then ;  but  her  scolding 
did  no  good,  for  in  a  few  moments  Christie 
and  Uncle  George,  from  China,  ran  down  the 
front  steps  at  No.  5  Ellen  Street,  never  to 
ascend  them  again. 

Oh,  the  talks  they  had  in  the  cosy  par- 
lor of  the  old-fashioned  hotel ;  of  the  two 
proud  cousins  who  had  called  her  "  Cross 
Christie ;"  of  the  dear,  gentle  grandmother, 
whose  very  grave  had  been  such  a  comfort 
to  her ;  of  Mrs.  Bunker,  and  Katie,  and 
Johnnie,  and  the  piles  of  greasy  dishes ; 
of  James  Dean,  with  his  sweet  voice,  his 
odd,  grave  ways,  and  his  womanly  gentle- 
ness with  his  mother ;  and  of  that  mother 
who  was  descending  into  the  shadow  of 
death,  over  so  rough  and  thorny  a  road ;  of 
the  green  grave  which  she  loved,  and  the 
two  little  graves  which  lie  loved  ;  and  Un- 
cle George's  eyes  glistened  as  she  told  him. 


CROSS  CHRISTIE.  187 

Then  she  told  him  her  dream,  and  how 
it  had  seemed  to  come  true ;  and  of  her 
hard  thoughts  toward  her  Uncle  John; 
of  her  unhappiness,  her  repentance,  their 
kindness,  and  her  joy;  and  both  resolved 
that  the  light  over  her  path  should  drive 
away  the  darkness  of  theirs. 

She  is  Happy  Christie  now — Cross  Chris- 
tie no  longer ;  and  the  dream  has  come 
true,  for  the  cross  on  her  shoulders  has 
fallen  off,  and  a  halo  of  the  glory  of  many 
good  deeds  shines  around  her  head. 


THE    WHITE  ROSES. 

IT  was  such  a  little  garden,  and  it  had 
such  a  hard  time !  What  with  the  soil 
being  so  bad,  and  the  landlord  so  cross, 
and  the  slips  so  contrary,  I  had  hard  time 
to  get  any  garden  at  all ;  then  the  watering- 
pot  leaked,  and  the  trowel  was  lost ;  we 
asked  the  landlord  to  get  us  a  nice  rose- 
bush to  put  in  the  center  bed,  and  he 
brought  us,  instead,  a  wizened,  unshapely 
arbor-vitge.  I  ought  to  have  protested  and 
refused  to  receive  it  then,  and  I  knew  it, 
but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  a  little  afraid 
of  our  cross  landlord ;  so  I  foolishly  let  him 
plant  it  right  in  the  center  of  my  center- 
bed.  And  it  is  there  yet,  ugly  and  un- 
gainly, as  ever,  only  larger. 


THE  WHITE  ROSES.  189 

Nothing  will  grow,  under  or  around  it, 
and  it  is  a  constant  eyesore  to  me,  spoiling, 
I  think,  the  whole  appearance  of  a  very 
pretty  little  garden;  but  our  cross  land- 
lord still  retains  his  frowns,  and  every 
week  fixes  my  ugly  tree  more  securely  in  its 
position.  Then  the  rats  got  into  the  garden. 

The  most  industrious  and  energetic  lot 
of  "rats  I  ever  saw;  they  burrowed  and 
burrowed  all  through  my  little  garden, 
until  it  was  nothing  but  a  honey-comb; 
and  they  were  so  hungry ! 

They  ate  all  my  dahlia  and  lily  bulbs, 
lunched  daintily  on  my  tender  young  ver- 
benas, and  lugged  daisy-roots  and  delicate 
young  slips  off  bodily  into  their  holes. 

With  a  plentiful  supply  of  ashes  and 
broken  glass,  however,  I  finally  got  rid  of 
these  pests,  and  a  fresh  application  to  in- 
dulgent friends  for  fresh  slips,  soon  re- 
placed my  collection. 


190  NO   BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

One  day,  as  I  was  walking  along  Harri- 
son Street,  I  saw  on  the  edge  of  the  side- 
walk, a  poor,  abandoned  little  rose-tree. 
Upon  picking  it  up  and  looking  at  it  care- 
fully, I  thought  I  detected  some  faint  signs 
of  life,  so  I  took  it  home  and  planted  it  in 
a  shady  corner.  The  next  day  promised  to 
be  so  warm  that  I  erected  a  little  awning 
over  my  tree  to  shield  it  from  the  sun ;  this 
amused  the  children  in  the  vicinity  so  much 
that  I  was  quite  fearful  of  their  pulling  it 
away ;  so  I  sat  down  and  watched  my  new 
charge  all  day  long. 

The  rest  of  the  family  laughed  at  me, 
and  I  had  not  much  faith  in  the  success  of 
my  nursing,  myself,  for  the  poor  thing  did 
not  give  the  slightest  sign  of  reviving. 

But  I  had  a  deal  of  patience,  if  not  much 
faith;  so  I  watered  it  well  that  night, 
erected  my  awning  again  the  next  day,  and 
continued  my  watching,  and  repeated  this 


THE  WHITE  ROSES. 

devotion  the  next  day,  and  the  next ;  yet 
still  that  one  green  leaf  hung  obstinately 
down,  and  so  I  pulled  away  the  awning, 
and  left  it  to  its  fate. 

But,  either  to  spite  or  reward  me,  that 
one  drooping,  green  leaf  looked  up  in  the 
evening,  and,  though  it  drooped  again  in 
the  sun's  rays,  it  looked  up  again  the  next 
evening ;  at  last  a  little  green  bunch  ap- 
peared on  the  stem,  which  grew  larger 
and  larger,  until  it  finally  burst  out  into 
delicate,  but  healthy  green  leaves ;  and  I 
felt  that  my  labors  and  patience  were  well 
rewarded. 

How  I  watched  for  the  blossoms,  and 
eagerly  held  the  pretty  foliage  aside  in 
order,  if  possible,  to  see  the  buds;  and 
when  the  buds  did  appear,  and  the  poor 
little  stick,  as  it  had  seemed  to  be  when  I 
picked  it  up  from  the  sidewalk,  held  out 
the  two  wee  little  things  in  its  arms  of 


192  '  NO  BABY  IN   THE   HOUSE. 

leaves,  like  a  young  mother,  proud  and 
happy,  how  I  loved  it ! 

And  when  the  buds  blossomed !  of  all 
the  beautiful,  pure  white  roses  that  ever 
opened  their  sweet  faces  on  the  sunny 
world,  those  two  were  the  most  beautiful. 

Little  Charlie  loved  them,  too,  as  well  as 
I  did. 

He  was  a  little  lame  boy,  was  Charlie, 
with  a  sweet,  pure,  white  face,  sweeter  and 
purer  even  than  my  roses,  and  with  a  some- 
thing underneath  it,  that  no  rose  could 
ever  have;  for  that  something  was  the 
light  of  an  earnest  and  holy  little  heart. 

His  sister  Jessie  used  to  wheel  him  about 
in  a  little  carriage ;  for  Charlie  had  never 
walked  in  his  life;  when  he  was  a  baby, 
long  before  he  thought  of  standing  alone, 
he  fell  down  a  long  flight  of  stairs,  and  the 
doctors  told  his  mother  then,  that  if  he 
ever  did  get  well,  that  he  never  would 


THE    WHITE   ROSES.  193 

stand  on  his  feet,  and  never  move  along  of 
his  own  will. 

Jessie  used  to  wheel  him  along  the  side- 
walk, in  front  of  my  little  garden,  every 
morning ;  and  as  I  was  always  at  work 
there  in  the  morning,  I  soon  got  acquainted 
with  him ;  for  he  was  not  at  all  shy,  al- 
though very  quiet  and  gentle-spoken. 

He  sympathized  deeply  with  my  numer- 
ous misfortunes,  and  admired  my  stately 
lilies  and  scarlet  verbenas,  and  detested  my 
ugly  tree  fully  as  much  as  I  did ;  he  watch- 
ed the  growth  of  my  pretty  rose-tree  with 
intense  interest,  and  fully  admired  its 
beautiful  blossoms. 

When  the  tree  began  to  blossom  more  plen- 
tifully, I  used  to  put  one  white  rose  or  bud 
in  his  little  blue-veined  hand,  every  morn- 
ing. 

But  I  thought,  when  I  gave  him  the  del- 
icate buds,  so  like  himself,  that,  as  they 

9 


194:  ^T0  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

bloomed,  he  faded ;  and  yet  that  they  grew 
more  and  more  like  each  other,  for  his 
cheek  was  now  almost  the  color  of  the  rose- 
leaf,  and  like  it,  he  was  nearer  and  nearer  per- 
fect every  day ;  like  it,  too,  he  was  a  snow 
white  beautiful  bud  that  would  never  blos- 
som. 

But  Charlie  loved  those  buds  ;  he  would 
clasp  them  in  his  tiny  hand,  and  peer  with 
his  deep  blue  eyes,  down,  down  into  their 
secret  hearts ;  he  would  put  them  to  his  lips, 
too,  sometimes,  and  press  the  soft  petals  to 
his  cheek,  lovingly. 

I  asked  Jessie  one  day,  if  she  put  them 
in  water  after  they  got  home,  and  she 
answered  "  no." 

I  asked  her  why,  and  after  awhile  she 
told  me ;  an  old  woman,  who  was  sick  and 
poor,  had  admired  the  bud  once  in  Charlie's 
hand,  as  his  sister  wheeled  him  by  her 
door;  and  he  was  quite  too  unselfish  a 


THE   WHITE   ROSES.  195 

child  to  keep  it  after  that,  so  every  day 
after  his  sister  had  given  him  all  his  ride, 
she  wheeled  him  past  the  old  woman's 
door,  and  he  handed  her  his  gift  with  a 
sweet  angelic  smile  which  made  it  all  the 
more  lovely. 

"  She  puts  them  in  a  cup,  and  they  bloom 
out  on  the  window  sill  by  her  chair,"  said 
Jessie. 

"  Ah !"  I  thought  to  myself,  when  she 
told  me  of  this  good  act,  "those  buds 
which  bloom  by  her  side  on  earth,  will 
bloom  by  his  in  heaven,"  for  I  knew  well 
what  a  sacrifice  it  was  for  him  to  give  them 
away  so  cheerfully. 

Day  by  day  my  white  roses  budded  and 
bloomed,  each  more  beautiful  than  those  that 
bloomed  before ;  and  day  by  day  Charlie 
sank  deeper  on  his  pillows  and  faded  from 
our  earthly  sight ;  he  was  budding  too,  and 
would  soon  bloom,  more  beautiful  than  ever. 


196  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

Yet  the  pangs  were  in  my  heart  when  I 
looked  at  his  little  fingers,  so  white  and 
slender,  and  I  could  not  help  the  tears, 
when  I  thought  how  soon  it  would  be, 
when  they  would  clasp  niy  snowy  buds 
no  more. 

One  morning  as  he  took  them,  I  fancied 
he  looked  rather  better  than  usual,  and 
said  so ;  but,  strangely  enough,  I  thought, 
he  bent  over  his  treasure,  and  when  he 
looked  up,  I  saw  the  tears  were  thick  in 
his  eyes,  and  one  great  drop  had  rolled 
down,  and  lay  upon  the  petals  like  a  dew- 
drop. 

Dear  Charlie ! 

Every  morning  I  had  expected  to  see 
Jessie  come  alone,  and  the  next  morning 
she  did. 

"  Is  Charlie  worse  ?"  asked  I,  anxiously. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  she  answered,  with  a  great 
sob,  "  he  is  better  now.  He  is  dead." 


THE   WHITE  ROSES.  197 

"  Dead !"  the  word  fell  on  rny  heart 
like  lead,  for  I  had  not  thought  he  would 
die  so  soon. 

We  gathered  them  all,  bud  and  blossom, 
and  put  them  with  him  in  his  narrow  bed ; 
he  had  not  changed,  only  I  fancied  that  the 
angel  look  had  appeared  on  his  counte- 
nance, now. 

We  buried  him  with  his  white  roses 
about  him,  and  planted  the  bush  over  his 
grave,  so  that  the  beautiful  flowers  bud  and 
bloom,  fade  and  fall,  all  the  year  round, 
over  his  little  form. 

We  gathered  a  few  one  day,  Jessie  and 
I,  and  carried  them  to  the  old  woman  who 
had  been  made  happy  by  Charlie's  hand  so 
many  times ;  but  when  we  came  to  the 
little  cottage,  she  was  gone  from  the  door, 
gone  from  the  window,  gone  from  Earth. 

We  well  knew  that  both  she  and  the 
little  boy  we  loved,  gather  and  love  far 


198  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

lovelier  and  more  lasting  blossoms  than  we 
will  ever  know  on  earth,  yet  we  think 
that  sometimes  when  the  warm  California 
sun  falls  on  the  little  grave  and  brightens 
it,  and  the  lovely  white  roses  turn  their 
pure  faces  upward  to  the  sky,  that  the 
spirits  of  both  will  leave  the  gardens  of 
glory  and  hover  for  a  little  while  over  the 
flowers  they  loved  on  earth. 


THE  OLD  MAN  IN  THE  GROUND. 

A    CALIFORNIA   LEGEND. 

HE  was  a  white-haired,  white-bearded 
man,  was  old  Senor  Gomez;  and,  as  he 
sailed  over  the  broad  seas  in  his  good  ship 
Gracia,  he  always  took  his  pretty  daughter 
Gracia  with  hirri,  because  the  gleam  of  her 
dark  hair  and  the  glance  of  her  black  eyes 
seemed  to  put  a  thrill  of  younger  life  into 
his  aged  veins. 

She  looked  as  he  did  when  he  was 
young; — so  people  said  who  knew  him 
then ;  but  now,  no  two  could  be  more  op- 
posite ;  Senor  Gomez  had  a  dark  skin,  and 
so  had  Gracia ;  but  his  cheek  was  wrinkled, 
and  looked  like  leather,  while  hers  had 


200  N0  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

under  it,  the  mantling  blush  of  youth, 
which  made  it  look  like  a  dark  cloud 
tinged  with  the  crimson  of  sunset.  ^ —  ju 

His  eyes  were  black  and  bright,  and  so 
were  hers;  but  his  had  a  way  of  looking 
off  when  you  looked  at  him,  while  Gracia's 
looked  you  in  the  face  freely  and  frankly, 
like  the  windows  of  an  open  and  noble 
heart,  as  they  were. 

They  lived  many  a  hundred  years  ago,  the 
old  Spaniard  and  his  pretty  daughter; 
many  a  hundred  years  ago  ;  when  the  world 
was  younger  and  more  ignorant  that  it  is 
now ;  when  the  broad  'Pacific  seldom  tossed 
a  ship  amongst  its  friendly  waves,  and  Cali- 
fornia was  an  undiscovered  country.  JJ* 

But  Senor  Ruy  Gromez  was  a  <JaHng, 
dauntless  captain,  an'd  he  feared  neither 
the  storms  of  the  ocean  nor  the  savages  of 
the  land;  moreover,  he  had  a  mate  as 
daring  and  dauntless  as  himself,  and  what- 


THE   OLD   MAN   IX   TITK   GROUND.  201 

ever  the  captain  said  he  would  do,  the 
mate  always  cried  "  yes,"  because  he  loved 
Gracia  Gomez,  the  captain's  daughter,  and 
wished  to  make  himself  pleasant  to  the 
captain,  so  that  when  he  asked  him  for 
her,  he  would  not  refuse. 

One  night,  they  were  close  by  the  shore 
of  a  strange,  unknown  land ;  and  Senor 
Gomez  dreamed  a  strange  dream  that  night, 
bidding  him  to  land,  and  dig  for  gold  ;  the 
dream  implied  that  no  one  was  to  set  foot 
on  the  strange  land,  save  himself  and  his 
daughter ;  and  by  the  time  his  ship  should 
sail  ten  degrees  to  the  north,  and  ten 
degrees  to  the  south,  that  he,  with  his  own 
hand,  would  have  dug  gold  enough  to  load 
the  ship,  and  make  him  richer  than  a 
prince. 

This  dream  so  impressed  him,  that  he 
determined  to  land,  and  to  dig  for  the 

gold,  as  he  had  been  directed;  so  he  told 
9* 


202  NO   BABY    IN   THE   HOUSE. 

his  mate,  whose  name  was  Bernardo,  what 
he  intended  to  do,  without  saying  anything, 
however,  about  his  dream. 

"  While  I  am  on  shore,  Bernardo,"  he  said, 
"  I  wish  you  to  sail  the  ship — first,  ten  de- 
grees to  the  north  and  back  again,  then, 
ten  degrees  to  the  south  and  back  again ; 
and  then  I,  with  my  daughter  Grracia,  will 
come  on  board,  and  we  will  set  sail  for 
Spain. 

"More,  good  Bernardo,  I  will  give  to 
you  for  your  perilous  duty  in  sailing  the 
Grracia,  a  large  share  in  the  gold  that  I  will 

dig." 

"  Master  Captain,"  said  Bernardo, "  I  know 
that  gold  is  a  noble  reward  for  courage; 
but,  in  encountering  these  dangers,  I  would 
fain  have  the  promise  of  another  gift,  more 
precious  than  all  the  gold  of  the  New 
World, — good  Senor,  I  mean  your  daugh- 
ter." 


THE   OLD   MAN  IN  THE   GROUND.  203 

But  Senor   Gomez  answered  coldly, 

"  Gold  I  will  give  you,  but  my  daugh- 
ter, never." 

Bernardo  said  nothing,  but  he  turned 
away  from  the  captain  with  a  heart  full  of 
anger,  sorrow,  and  hatred. 

That  evening,  when  the  moon  was  high 
up  in  the  sky,  and  the  captain  was  sleep- 
ing, the  mate  went  to  Gracia,  as  she  was 
walking  on  the  deck,  and  told  her,  in  a  half- 
tender,  half-fierce  way,  of  his  love  for  her 
and  his  hatred  of  her  father ;  then  he  pro- 
posed to  her  that  she  should  return  to  the 
ship,  and  leave  her  father  to  find  his  gold 
and  to  keep  it. 

"  We  will  be  happy,  my  beautiful,"  he 
cried,  "and  a  solitary  death  will  be  a  just 
punishment  for  his  tyranny." 

But  the  little  Spanish  girl  was  not  only  a 
good  and  faithful  daughter,  but  she  had 
also  a  heart  so  pure  and  holy,  that  what 


20  I-  NO  BABY   IN  THE  HOUSE. 

Bernardo  had  said  filled  her  with  horror 
and  sorrow. 

"  You  a"re  crazy  now,"  she  said,  "  but 
by  and  by  it  will  go  away.  I  will  not 
tell  my  father,  and  we  will  both  forget  what 
you  have  said." 

They  landed,  the  bearded,  grasping  cap- 
tain, and  the  sweet-faced,  dark-eyed  girl, 
upon  the  desolate  shores  of  the  gold-haunt 
ed  land ;  and  Bernardo  promised  to  sail  the 
ship  as  the  captain  had  bidden. 

They  hunted  and  hunted  for  the  precious 
treasures,  until  Ruy  Gomez  was  well  nigh 
discouraged ;  for  the  ship  had  sailed  away, 
and  he  greatly  feared  that  the  journey  to 
and  fro  would  be  accomplished  before  he 
had  a  single  nugget  to  show  for  Bernardo's 
reward.  One  night  as  they  rested  under- 
neath a  great  oak,  the  captain  bemoaned 
his  ill-luck  and  his  many  misfortunes,  and 
finally  said  to  his  daughter : — 


THE  OLD  MAN  IN  THE  GROUND.  205 

"  I  was  a  fool  to  bring  you  with  me ;  I 
should  have  found  the  gold  long  ago  if  I 
had  not  been  obliged  to  drag  you  about 
with  me." 

He  said  these  words  very  fretfully  and 
very  unkindly ;  for  it  was  much  harder  for 
little  Gracia  to  bear  all  these  hardships  and 
discomforts  than  it  was  for  him ;  while  she 
had  never  complained  once,  nor  failed  to 
do  all  that  he  required  of  her. 

"  Father,  father,"  she  cried,  in  astonish- 
ment, "  you  could  not  have  left  me." 

"Hush!"  he  answered,  crushing  in  his 
hand  some  little  oblong  smooth  stones 
which  he  had  picked  up,  "  say  not  another 
word,  or  I  will  fling  the  stones  at  you." 
And  so  angiy  was  he  that  the  red  blood 
glowed  underneath  his  dark  cheeks,  like  a 
scarlet  flame  shrouded  in  smoke. 

"  Alas !"  cried  Gracia,  "  you  must  be  ill, 

father." 

^V     or  a 

__ fair  17  E 


206  N0   BABY   IN   THE   HOUSE. 

"  I  told  you  to  hush,"  he  shouted,  as  he 
fulfilled  his  threat,  and  flung  the  hard 
stones  full  in  her  innocent  young  face. 

Ah  !  it  was  cruel,  cruel,  cruel ! 

She  put  her  two  hands  up  before  her  face, 
her  pretty  face,  all  bruised  and  scratched, 
and  wept  very  bitter  tears ;  yet  the  tears 
were  not  for  the  pain  in  her  round  cheeks, 
but  for  the  sharper  pangs  in  her  heart. 

All  the  time,  although  they  did  not  see 
him,  old  Karlin,  the  king  of  the  mines,  was 
hiding  behind  the  tree  and  watching  them  ; 
he  was  an  ugly  old  elf,  and  so  hated  man- 
kind, that  far  from  helping  them  to  find 
the  gold  and  silver  under  his  care,  he 
always  tried  his  best  to  have  every  grain 
of  shining  metal  which  they  did  find  carry 
with  it  sorrow  and  trouble. 

Here,  upon  the  shores  of  this  New  World, 
he  had  been  allowed  to  carry  his  head  high 
for  so  long,  that  he  had  begun  to  hope  that 


THE   OLD   MAN  IN   THE  GROUND.  207 

man  would  never  disturb  him,  and  so  when 
lie  saw  Ruy  Gomez  and  his  daughter  wan- 
dering through  the  forests,  he  looked  upon 
them  with  any  thing  but  kindly  eyes. 

Yet,  even  Karlin's  little  black  eyes  snap- 
ped, and  he  clinched  his  withered,  brown 
hand  angrily,  when  he  saw  Senor  Gomez 
fling  those  cruel,  hard  stones  in  that  inno- 
cent little  face. 

"You  shall  rue  it,  old  Leatherskin,"  he 
thought,  "  for  you  it  was,  and  not  she,  who 
came  here  to  hunt  for  my  shining  gold." 

So  Karlin  set  himself  to  work  to  do  ill 
unto  the  old  Spaniard,  if  he  did  no  good  to 
Gracia. 

Now,  near  the  place  where  they  then 
were,  was  one  of  Karlin's  richest  mines, 
and  into  that  mine  he  determined  to  entrap 
the  greedy  old  Spaniard.  So  that  night, 
while  they  both  slept  on  their  bed  of  dry 
leaves,  he  scattered  rich  nuggets  of  gold 


208  N0  BABY   IN   THE   HOUSE. 

about  on  the  ground,  and  great  pieces  of 
quartz,  all  veined  in  thick  veins  of  gold  ; 
and  so  placed  them  that  he  felt  sure  they 
would  lead  Senor  Gomez  to  the  entrance 
of  the  mine. 

"  Once  inside  my  domain,"  chuckled  the 
withered  old  Karlin,  "  once  inside,  and  I'm 
all  right." 

Then  he  gathered  up  the  little  smooth 
stones,  whose  sharp  edges  had  so  cruelly 
cut  the  delicate  skin  of  pretty  Gracia,  and 
after  looking  at  them  curiously  for  awhile, 
he  carried  them  into  the  mine  and  laid 
them  carelessly  down  upon  a  little  shelf  of 
quartz. 

The  sun  arose  gloriously  in  that  far 
western  land,  and  the  sweet  breath  of  the 
California  morning  fanned  the  cheeks  and 
*brows  of  the  wanderers,  and  awakened 
them  to  another  day,  as  they  supposed,  of 
toil  and  disappointment. 


THE   OLD   MAN  IN  THE   GROUND.  209 

As  they  munclied  their  breakfast  of  dry 
cracker  and  fresh  fruit,  Gracia  prattled  to 
her  father ;  for  she  soon  forgave  and  forgot 
the  wounds  which  he  had  inflicted. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  "  the  sun  comes  up  in 
the  red  sky  like  a  ball  of  gold  floating  in 
blood,  and  I  think  it  bodes  good  for  us." 

"  Why  do  you  say  in  blood  ?"  said  her 
father,  sharply,  "  what  has  blood  to  do  with 
the  gold  I  want  ?" 

"  May  be  one  of  us  will  cut  our  fingers, 
papa,  and  find  that  the  stone  is — oh,  papa, 
see  here,"  and  she  picked  up  from  the 
ground  one  of  the  nuggets  of  gold  which 
the  cunning  Karlin  had  left. 

"  At  last !"  said  Senor  Gomez.  "  You  have 
brought  me  good  luck,  after  all,  daughter." 

Gracia  smiled,  but  she  hung  her  head 
and  looked  the  other  way,  for  somehow  the 
words  seemed  to  hurt  her,  and,  without 
wishing  it,  she  thought  of  the  hand  with 


210  NO  BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

which  the  stones  were  thrown,  was  the 
same  hand  held  out  to  her  now,  to  smooth 
her  soft  hair;  so  she  knew  not  why,  but 
she  shrank  from  it,  and  looked  the  other 
way. 

Senor  Gomez  was  too  much  excited  to 
notice  it,  however,  but  went  on  searching 
and  searching  for  more  of  his  shining  idol ; 
and  he  found  more,  almost  at  every  step ; 
for  he  fell  directly  into  the  cunning  trap 
which  Karlin  had  prepared,  and  every  step 
found  him.  nearer  to  the  entrance  of  the 
mine. 

"  Search  for  the  gold,  Gracia,"  he  cried, 
"  for  truly,  yon  golden  sun  has  brought  us 
wondrous  good  luck.  Search  hard,  Gracia, 
for  my  dream  has  come  true,  and  I  pick  it 
up  in  great  lumps." 

Gracia  did  as  she  was  bid ;  bending  her 
head  down  under  the  tall,  rank  bushes,  and 
parting  the  thick  grass  faithfully ;  but  all 


THE   OLD   MAN  IN   THE   GROUND.  211 

she  found,  was  here  and  there  the  nest  of 
the  little  brown  groundbird,  with  its  little 
brood  of  featherless  babies ;  they  were  not 
afraid  of  her,  for  they  knew  no  harm  of  her, 
but  looked  up  with  their  bright  round 
eyes,  and  opened  their  greedy  little  throats, 
piping  loudly,  and  thinking,  perhaps,  that 
she  had  brought  them  a  worm  or  so. 

Then  here  and  there  she  found  a  bunch 
of  ripe,  red  strawberries,  sparkling  with 
the  diamonds  of  the  morning — but  she 
found  no  gold. 

Meanwhile  her  father  had  discovered 
the  entrance  to  the  cave,  and  went  in ;  once 
in,  he  was  dazzled,  bewildered,  lost. 

"  Papa,  papa,"  called  the  voice  of  his 
daughter,  in  the  wood. 

He  heard  her,  yet  heard  her  not ;  for  up, 
up,  on  both  sides  of  him  were  walls  of  yel- 
low gold,  and  here  and  there  were  walls  of 
sparkling  white  quartz,  so  heavy  with  the 


212  NO  BABY   IN   THE   HOUSE. 

bright  metal  that  the  quartz  seemed  much 
the  smaller  part. 

Papa,  papa,"  said  the  sweet  voice  in  the 
outer  air. 

"She  must  see  it,"  he  thought,  "she  is 
but  weakly,  but  she  can  help  to  carry  it 
away."  Yet  he  never  seemed  to  think  of 
turning  back,  for  he  was  so  dazed  and  be- 
wildered that  her  voice  sounded  as  though 
in  the  mine,  only  far,  far  ahead. 

He  picked  up  great  nuggets,  and  broke 
off  large  pieces  of  gold,  until  his  pockets 
were  full  to  overflowing ;  yet  still  he  kept 
on,  for  that  sweet,  ringing  voice,  saying, 
"  Papa,  where  are  you,  papa  I"  echoed  and 
re-echoed  through  the  cave. 

He  found  upon  a  shelf  the  stones  which 
he  had  flung  at  his  child,  and  he  took  them 
eagerly,  though  he  thought  not  what  he  was 
doing,  and  carried  them  along  in  his  hand. 

"Papa,"  said  the  voice,  faintly  now,  for 


THE   OLD  MAN  IN   THE  GROUND.  213 

the  mine  was  deep  in  the  center  of  a  hill, 
and  the  voice  could  hardly  be  heard. 

The  way  grew  crooked,  and  the  mine 
grew  dark ;  the  gold  in  his  pockets  weighed 
heavily,  and  his  feet  stumbled. 

"  Papa."    So  faint — so  far  away. 

"  Gracia,"  he  cried,  "  my  child,  my  little 
one,  Gracia !" 

As  he  spoke  the  word,  a  stone  dropped 
from  his  hand,  and  rung  sharply  on  the 
floor  of  the  mine. 

Slowly  he  stumbled  on,  and  felt  his  way 
on  the  clammy  walls  of  the  mine ;  but  he 
never  seemed  to  think  of  turning  back, 
although  his  daughter's  voice  had  ceased 
now,  and  he  heard  only  the  echo  of  his 
stumbling  footsteps,  and  of  .his  vain  though 
frantic  calls  for  his  child  ;  and  as  he  spoke 
her  name,  he  noticed  one  stone  always 
dropped  from  his  hand,  yet  he  never  seemed 
to  have  less.  He  tried  to  pull  the  nuggets 


214:  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

of  gold  from  his  pockets,  but  they  would 
not  come ;  and  at  last  he  tried  to  turn 
back.  Too  late ! 

The  stones  which  he  had  dropped,  had 
turned  to  seeds,  and  the  seeds  had  sprouted 
and  grown  with  a  wonderful  growth,  so 
that  he  was  completely  entangled  in  the 
long  roots  and  the  thick  stems. 

When  these  stems  reached  the  ground, 
they  pushed  through  and  through,  until 
they  reached  the  air  and  sun.  It  is  a 
hideous  plant,  bearing  hideous  blossoms, 
and  the  seeds  of  it  are  hard  and  smooth, 
like  stones, — like,  for  all  the  world,  the 
very  stones  which  Don  Gomez  threw  in 

£ 

Gracia's  face,  so  many  hundred  years  ago. 

First  the  Indians,  then  the  Spaniards, 
who  succeeded  them,  and  then  the  country- 
folks who  succeeded  them,  called  the  plant 
"  The  old  man  in  the  ground."  And  the  old 
Spaniard,  so  they  say,  is  still  wandering  on 


THE  OLD  MAN  IN  THE   GROUND.  215 

in  the  dim  and  dreary  mine,  bearing  in  his 
pockets  the  gold  which  he  can  not  get  rid 
of,  sowing  the  stones  in  his  hand,  whose 
number  is  never  less,  and  searching  hope- 
lessly and  frantically  for  his  daughter. 

When  Bernardo  sailed  from  the  shores 
of  the  unknown  land,  he  had  it  in  his  heart 
never  to  return ;  but  somehow  the  face  of 
pretty  Gracia  drew  him  back  after  he  had 
sailed  ten  degrees  to  the  north  ;  and  when 
the  good  ship  was  anchored  in  the  quiet 
bay,  the  mate  determined  to  land  and  seek 
out  the  wanderers.  But  on  the  very  day 
he  reached  the  shore,  a  ragged  and  pitiful 
little  figure  broke  through  the  brushwood, 
and  ran  down  upon  the  beach. 

"  Gracia !"  cried  Bernardo.  "  where  is  thy 
father?" 

"  Lost !  lost !"  cried  the  little  maiden  ; 
and  for  a  long  time  she  would  say  nothing 
else  but  that  one  word.  At  last,  however, 


216  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

she  told  Bernardo  all  that  had  happened, 
and  tried  to  guide  him  to  the  place  where 
her  father  had  been  last  seen.  They  bota 
searched  for  him  long  and  patiently,  but 
they  found  no  trace  of  him;  and  a  hideous 
weed  spread  itself  over  the  ground,  and 
impeded  their  footsteps.  So  at  last  they 
went  back  to  the  ship,  and  set  sail  for 
Spain ;  and  when  they  reached  the  shores 
of  their  dear  native  land,  a  good  priest 
married  Bernardo  to  Gracia,  and  they  lived 
together  happily  all  the  rest  of  their  lives. 


JENNIE. 

SHE  was  a  pretty  little  girl,  with  black 
eyes  full  of  saucy  light,  and  black  hair  full 
of  curls  and  kinks;  a  smart  little  girl,— 
with  her  head  stuffed  full  of  Grammar  and 
Geography,  and  Arithmetic  at  her  fingers' 
ends ;  better  than  both,  she  was  a  good  little 
girl,  with  a  heart  full  of  truth,  earnestness, 
and  generosity. 

Of  course  everybody  loved  her;  for 
little  girls  who  are  good  and  smart  and 
pretty,  and  come  to  school  in  the  morning, 
with  red  lips  parted  over  their  white  teeth, 
smiling  continuous  "Good  mornings"  to 
eveiybody,  are  very  apt  to  win  hearts. 

Even  sulky  Susie  used  to  writhe  her  lips 

in  a  ghostly  attempt  at  a  smile  when  she 
10 


218  NO  BABY   IN   THE   HOUSE. 

saw  Jennie ;  and  Katie  Washbourne,  who 
put  on  a  great  many  airs  with  other 
girls,  felt  them  melt  away  in  her  grasp 
before  the  fire  of  those  true,  -honest  black 
eyes. 

And  Dick  Hollis  !  Dick  had  said  that 
he  would  die  for  Jennie ;  and  perhaps  he 
might  have,  if  he  had  been  really  brought 
to  the  test,  but  he  never  was  ;  poor  fellow, 
he  died  for  something  that  was  as  miser- 
ably base  and  wicked  as  his  black-eyed 
goddess  was  pure  and  good  ;  he  was  killed 
in  a  quarrel  for  money. 

He  was  a  dreadfully  bad  boy  when  he 
first  came  to  school,  and  he  kept  getting 
worse  and  worse,  until  the  teacher  was 
going  to  put  him  out  altogether,  when  Jen- 
nie's hand  stayed  him  from  at  least  present 
disgrace  and  ruin. 

But,  alas !  even  she  could  not  prevent 
a  neglected  and  vicious  childhood  from 


JENNIE.  219 

bearing  the  fruit  of  a  wicked  manhood  ;  he 
became  a  horse-thief  and  a  gambler,  and  it 
was  a  mercy  to  mankind  that  he  was  cut 
off  in  his  career  of  crime  before  he  grew 
old  in  its  precepts  and  practice.  ,  ~J 

But  sometimes,  I  think,  he  must  have 
paused  and  remembered  the  one  beautiful 
incident  of  his  life;  the  one  redeeming 
gleam  of  hope  and  goodness,  which  lighted 
up  his  otherwise  dark  and  miserable  boy- 
hood ;  the  one  time  when  he  aimed,  at  least, 
toward  virtue,  even  if  he  did  so  only  for 
the  love  of  a  pretty  black-eyed  schoolmate  ; 
and  he  may  even  have  left  some  wicked 
deed  undone  for  her  sake,  and  thought  bet- 
ter of  his  fellow-creatures  because  she  was 
one  of  them. 

How  often  does  a  good  deed  blossom 
and  bring  forth  fruit,  long  after  the  doer 
has  looked  upon  it  as  dead,  and  forgotten 
it. 


220  NO  BABY  IN   THE  HOUSE. 

Poor  Dick  !  Under  happier  circumstances 
he  might  have  been  a  good  man,  for  he 
must  have  had  a  good  place  in  his  heart, 
else  he  had  not  loved  Jennie  so  well ;  he 
must  have  had  a  touch  of  chivalry  in  his 
nature  to  have  given  up  his  evil  ways  and 
avoided  his  evil  companions,  so  that  she 
might  think  better  of  him;  and  those 
flowers  ! 

But  I  must  commence  farther  back,  and 
tell  all  of  the  story. 

Dick's  mother  died  when  he  was  a  baby, 
and  Dick's  father  might  as  well  have  been 
dead  as  far  as  his  son  was  concerned ;  it 
would  even  have  been  better  for  Dick  if 
he  had  been  an  orphan,  for  good  men  and 
women  have  built  pleasant  homes  for  those 
who  have  neither  father  nor  mother,  where 
care  and  kindness  guard  the  gates,  and  if 
the  inmates  rarely  have  tenderness  for  a 
guest,  they  at  least  never  have  vice. 


JENNIE.  221 

But  woe,  woe  for  those  who  have  a  care- 
less and  cruel  father,  and  no  mother ;  no 
wonder  Dick  Hollis  grew  up  to  be  a  bad 
boy;  no  wonder  he  played  truant,  and 
smoked  cigar  stumps  and  stole  peaches 
from  the  fruit-stands;  for  who  had  ever 
tried  to  point  out  to  him  the  better  path, 
and  encourage  him  to  persevere  in  it  de- 
spite the  thorns  which  pierced  his  feet  and 
the  brambles  which  barred  his  way  ? 

No  one. 

Stop,  yes,  one ;  but  it  was  a  little  hand 
which  pointed  out  the  way,  and  the  little 
feet  themselves,  often  quivered  from  the 
thorns ;  yet  she  tried  hard,  and  she  perse- 
vered, until  the  tiny  hand  grew  weak  and 
the  feet  wavered  and  tottered. 

Dear,  dear  little  Jennie  ! 

I  think  she  first  noticed  him  from  seeing 
him  punished  at  school;  and  Pity  being 
the  twin -sister  of  Action  in  some  hearts, 


222  N0  BABY   IN   THE   HOUSE. 

she  made  up  her  mind  to  "  do  something" 
when  the  tears  brightened  her  eyes. 

It  was  not  much  that  she  could  do,  but  she 
did  that  little,  when  occasion  offered,  with 
such  a  free-hearted  earnestness  that  from 
that  moment  the  heart  of  the  incipient  ruffian 
was  at  her  feet,  and  the  little  was  enough. 

The  occasion  was  this,  a  silver  dollar 
which  the  teacher  had  brought  to  the  class 
for  some  purpose,  and  which  had  been  lying 
on  the  table,  was  missing. 

Jennie,  being  the  girl  of  the  class,  had 
been  appointed  by  Miss  Leslie  as  the  moni- 
tor, to  dust  the  table  and  put  the  books  in 
order  at  recess  ;  it  was  to  her  therefore  that 
the  teacher  turned  when  she  discovered 
her  loss. 

"  Jennie,"  she  said,  carelessly,  "  what  did 
you  do  with  that  silver  dollar  ?" 

"  I  left  it  there,  on  the  table,"  was  the 
innocent  reply. 


JENNIE.  223 

Miss  Leslie  searched  for  it ;  indifferently 
at  first,  and  earnestly  afterward,  but  in  vain. 

Jennie  searched  for  it,  carefully  and 
strictly,  but  also  in  vain  ;  Miss  Leslie  look- 
ed sharply  at  Dick  Hollis,  and  made  one 
more  effort  to  find  the  missing  article ;  in 
vain  ! 

"  Dick  Ilollis,"  she  said,  sharply,  "  what 
were  you  doing  here  at  the  table  a  little 
while  ago  ?" 

Dick  was  twisting  some  string  at  that 
moment  so  busily  that  he  did  not  hear  the 
teacher ;  but  Tommy  Brand,  who  sat  next 
to  him,  punched  him  with  a  beaming  face,  to 
bring  him  back  to  a  recollection  of  the 
troubles  of  this  world. 

"  Ma'am  ?"  he  said,  starting  awkwardly 
to  his  feet. 

"  What  did  you  come  up  here  for  a  little 
while  ago  ?" 

Miss  Leslie  spoke  the  words  so  sharply, 


224:  NO   BABY  IN   THE   HOUSE. 

as  though  she  had  already  judged  him,  as 
indeed  she  had. 

"I — I  was  a  gitting  a  slate-pencil," 
responded  the  frightened  boy,  frightened  at 
he  knew  not  what. 

Tommy  Brand  looked  up  from  his  seat, 
and  grinned  broadly  in  his  face ;  he  was  a 
tall,  overgrown  boy,  this  Tommy  Brand, 
and  not  at  all  pleasant  to  look  at. 

His  clothes  were  too  small  for  him,  yet 
were  put  on  in  so  slovenly  and  shuffling 
a  way,  that  they  looked  ready  to  drop  off 
him  ;  his  arms  and  legs  were  exceedingly 
long  and  thin,  and  his  hands  and  feet 
exceedingly  large ;  his  joints  appeared  to 
be  loose,  and  his  head  wagged  on  his  short 
neck  in  a  very  unpleasant  way. 

Jennie  did  not  like  Tommy  Brand  at  all, 
and  when  he  leered  up  at  poor  Dick,  he 
did  not  dream  what  a  handsome  pair  of 
black  eyes  snapped  at  him. 


JENNIE.  225 

"  What  ?"  said  Miss  Leslie,  sharply. 

Dick  repeated  his  answer. 

"  No,  you  were  not,"  responded  the 
teacher,  "  you  went  up  to  steal  that  silver 
dollar  which  Jennie  carelessly  left  on  the 
desk,  and  now  I  want  it,  sir !" 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  the  boy,  earnestly, 
looking  tremblingly  from  her  to  Jennie, 
from  Jennie  to  her,  "  I  never  touched  noth- 
ing on  your  table.  "  Truly,  truly  I  didn't ; 
don't  say  I  did,  Miss  Leslie,  for  truly  I 
didn't." 

He  spoke  very  earnestly,  very  piteously, 
and  the  small,  dull  gray  eyes  were  full  of 
tears ;  yet  Miss  Leslie  looked  coldly  and 
sternly  at  him,  and  the  boys  around,  grin- 
ned broadly,  for  it  was  very,  very  seldom 
that  Dick  shed  tears. 

Tommy  Brand,  especially,  seemed  delight- 
ed, and  could  hardly  forbear  from  laughing 
10* 


226  N0  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

aloud  at  the  boy's  distress ;— only  Jennie 
pitied  and  believed  him. 

Miss  Leslie  investigated  the  matter  a  little 
more ;  called  up  one  or  two  boys  who  de- 
clared they  saw  Dick  stop  and  "  nip  some- 
thing" from  the  table ;  Tommy  Brand  said 
that  he  saw  the  dollar  when  he  went  up 
after  his  speller,  and  Dick  was  the  next 
boy  who  visited  the  table;  George  Rice, 
who  visited  it  next,  said  he  looked  at  the 
table,  and  he  did  not  see- it  there. 

Miss  Leslie  thought  it  was  very  good  evi- 
dence, and  said  so. 

"I  didn't  take  it,^I  never  seed  it  at  all," 
said  the  culprit,  with  a  choking  voice.  "I 
never  took  it,  ina'am ;  truly,  truly,  I  never 
did." 

But  the  poor  boy  was  prejudged,  and 
there  was  no  hope  for  him,  earnest  and  piti- 
ful though  his  words  might  be;  yet' Miss 
Leslie  did  feel,  perhaps,  a  qualm  of  con- 


JENNIE.  227 

science,  as   she  took  out  the  heavy  ruler 
which  poor  Dick  Hollis  knew — oh !  so  well. 

"  Jennie,"  she  said,  "  are  you  sure  you 
left  it  on  the  table?" 

"I— I  think  I  did,"  said  the  little  girl, 
"but—" 

"  I  seed  it  there,  I  did,"  chuckled  Tommy 
Brand. 

"  Hush,  sir  !"  said  the  teacher. 

"  Miss  Leslie,"  said  Jennie,  earnestly,  "  I 
don't  believe  Dick  Hollis  took  it.  Please 
don't  whip  him,  please  don't,  he  didn't 
take  it,  I  know  he  didn't." 

"  Why  do  you  know  ?"  demanded  the 
mistress. 

"He  doesn't  look  as  though  he  did, 
and  I  don't  believe  he  did,"  said  Jennie, 
boldly. 

"  Come  forward,  Dick  Hollis,"  said  the 
teacher,  turning  contemptuously  away  from 
the  little  pleader,  "  and  see  if  you  can  give 


228  N0  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

me  the  dollar  after  I  have  given   you  a 
whipping." 

He  came  forward ;  such  a  miserable- 
looking  boy !  ragged  and  dirty,  pale  and 
freckled,  blear-eyed  and  large-featured. 

The  tears  were  all  dry  in  his  eyes  now, 
and  on  his  face  was  a  calm  look  ;  not  of 
defiance,  such  as  he  was  used  to  display 
when  he  received  a  merited  whipping,  but 
of  endurance;  and  he  looked  at  Jennie, 
who  still  stood  by  the  table,  with  her 
bright  eyes,  the  brighter  for  tears,  and  he 
cast  upon  her  a  look  of  such  perfect  grati- 
tude and  devotion,  that  he  looked  for  the 
moment  almost  beautiful. 

He  said  not  another  word  to  the  teacher, 
but  held  out  his  hand,  scarred  and  hard  by 
many  a  cruel  whipping,  and  held  back  the 
tears  as  he  had  often  held  them  back  be- 
fore, right  bravely. 

Once,  twice,  thrice,  left  hand  and  right ; 


JENNIE.  229 

so  many,  many  times.  At  last  she 
stopped. 

"  Will  you  give  it  up  now  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  never  took  it,  ma'am,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Tommy  Brand  !"  cried  Jennie,  sharply 
and  suddenly,  "  you  took  that  dollar,  you 
know  you  did,  and  you  would  sit  there  and 
laugh  at  Dick  Hollis.  Give  it  up,"  she 
cried,  imperiously,  "  give  it  up,  directly, 


sir." 


Tommy  Brand  shrunk  and  cowered  into 
his  seat ;  the  boys  and  girls  turned  around 
and  looked  at  him  in  utter  astonishment ; 
Miss  Leslie  stood  with  ruler  uplifted,  Dick 
Hollis  with  hand  outstretched,  and  the 
room  was  as  still  as  a  church.  Tommy 
Brand  fumbled  at  his  pockets  and  cowered 
into  his  seat,  seeing  nothing  but  those 
piercing  eyes,  hearing  but  the  ringing  of 
that  childish  voice,  upraised  in  the  cause 
of  justice. 


230  N0  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

"  Stand  up,"  said  Jennie,  "  and  give  it 
up." 

Slowly,  slowly,  he  arose,  shuffling  to  his 
great  feet  like  a  mean,  contemptible  thief, 
as  he  was,  and  felt  himself  to  be;  while 
slowly,  slowly,  he  drew  from  his  pocket 
the  identical  dollar  which  had  been  miss- 
ing. 

Miss  Leslie  put  down  her  ruler.  "  Take 
your  seat,  Dick  Hollis,"  she  said ;  "  and  you, 
Thomas  Brand,  I  will  see  after  school. 
Jennie,  be  seated." 

Not  a  word-  of  regret  that  the  scapegrace 
had  been  unjustly  punished,  not  a  word  of 
scorn  for  the  miserable  culprit !  No,  not 
one.  "  We  will  now  go  on  with  the  lesson," 
she  said,  and  that  was  all. 

From  that  moment  no  task  was  too  hard 
for  Dick  to  learn,  if  Jennie  could  hear  him 
recite  it  in  the  class ;  no  sacrifice  of  his 
wicked  propensities  was  a  trial,  did  Jennie 


JENNIE.  231 

hut  know  of  it;  and  a  sudden,  beautiful 
light  dawned  over  him, — the  light  of  a 
smile  from  the  heart  of  a  good  little  girl. 
She  was  never  absent  from  school,  unless 
she  was  seriously  sick ;  so  Dick  Hollis  felt 
very  miserable  and  anxious  one  day  when 
he  saw  Jennie's  seat  vacant;  when  he  went 
about  his  work  after  school,  he  could  think 
of  nothing  but  that  vacant  seat,  of  nothing 
but  the  red  cheeks,  which  .now  might  be 
dreadfully  pale,  of  the  bright  eyes  which 
now  perhaps  were  dim. 

u  Come,  come,  Dick,"  said  Mr.  Mack,  who 
furnished  Dick  with  his  scanty  ward- 
robe in  consideration  of  his  doing  chores 
after  school,  "  wake  up  and  be  a  little 
quicker,  or  I'll  give  you  something  to 
help  you,  that  you  won't  like.  If  you 
want  to  earn  a  dime,  get  in  that  load  of 
wood  after  you  get  through  with  the  other 
jobs." 


232  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

Dimes  were  not  so  plentiful  in  Dick's 
pocket  that  he  should  neglect  this  chance,  so 
he  went  to  work  manfully,  and  soon  had 
his  numerous  tasks  performed  to  the  satis- 
faction of  his  not  over-amiable  employer ; 
and  with  his  hard-earned  dime,  he  bought  a 

'  O 

bouquet  of  sweet  spring  violets  for  his  dear 
idol. 

He  knew  where  she  lived ;  yes,  indeed  ! 
He  had  looked  at  the  house  many  and  many 
a  time,  until  every  line  of  its  old  weather- 
beaten  front  was  known  to  him ;  yet  he 
stood  on  the  corner,  and  hesitated  and 
twirled  the  violets  around  in  his  fingers 
awkwardly,  and  looked  and  hesitated 
crossed  over  to  the  other  corner,  and  shuffled 
his  feet  to  and  fro  over  the  pavement  many 
times  before  he  could  finally  decide  to  go 
up  and  ring  the  bell.  A  pale,  pretty  young 
lady  came  to  the  door,  who  said,  as  Dick 
held  out  the  flowers  without  a  word, — 


JENNIE.  .233 

"  Who  are  these  for,  little  boy  ?  Jennie  ?" 

Dick  nodded  emphatically,  and  started 
off,  then  turned  his  head,  and  said  to  the 
young  lady,— 

"  Is  she  sick «" 

"Very  sick,  indeed,"  was  the  answer. 
"  Who  will  I  tell  her  sent  her  these  3" 

"  Dick ;  and  he's  sorry,"  said  that  young 
man,  fairly  terrified  at  his  own  audacity. 

But  that  answer,  "  Very  sick  indeed  !" 
rang  in  his  ears  all  the  rest  of  the  day,  and 
moaned  through  his  dreams  all  night,  and 
haunted  him  all  the  next  day. 

Every  night,  after  that,  he  found  some 
task  to  do  for  somebody,  which  brought 
him  his  coveted  dime,  and  every  night  he 
rang  the  bell  at  Jennie's  house,  and  hand- 
ed the  pale  young  lady  his  bunch  of 
violets. 

"  How  is  she  ?"  he  always  asked ;  and  the 
answer  always  was, — 


234  NO   BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

"Worse  to  night." 

One  night  the  young  lady  said  sadly,  as 
she  took  the  flowers, 

"  She  is  very  low  now,  and  the  doctor 
thinks  she  may  never  be  better ;  wouldn't 
you  like  to  see  her  ?" 

Dick  hesitated ;  the  very  thought  of 
walking  through  Jennie's  house,  and  look- 
ing at  her  face,  made  him  thrill  all  over 
with  joy,  yet  he  hesitated. 

"You  may  never  see  her  again  alive," 
said  the  young  lady,  sadly. 

Dick  took  off  his  hat  with  instinctive 
reverence,  and  followed  her  into  the  house 
without  another  word. 

The  young  lady  led  him  into  the  room, 
and  crossed  over  to  look  at  the  little 
invalid,  motioning  him  to  stand  by  the 
door. 

Jennie  was  talking  then,  muttering  soft- 
ly to  herself;  and  a  lady  bending  over 


JENNIE.  235 

the  other  side  of  the  bed  was  crying 
bitterly. 

"  She  will  not  know  you,"  whispered 
the  young  lady,  "  she  has  not  known  any- 
body for  the  last  four  days.  But  you 
can  look  at  her, — she  is  not  very  much 
changed." 

No,  she  was  not  much  changed,  it  was 
true ;  her  face  was  much  thinner,  but  the 
eyes  were  still  sparkling,  the  cheeks  still 
red  ;  yet  even  poor  Dick,  all  unused  to  sick- 
ness as  he  was,  felt  that  the  eyes  were  all 
too  bright,  the  cheeks  too  red,  and  that  her 
present  beauty  was  but  the  forerunner  of  a 
dreadful  decay. 

He  looked  only  for  a  moment,  and  then 
stood  back  again  by  the  door. 

The  old  gray-bearded  doctor,  who  held 
one  fevered  little  hand  in  his  broad  palm, 
shook  his  head  sadly  as  she  prattled  on  in 
her  disconnected  talk. 


236  NO  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

"  I  Issnow  he  didn't,"  she  said,  and  the 
hot  tears  started  into  Dick's  eyes,  for  he 
remembered  when  she  spoke  those  words 
before. 

"  The  lessons  were  so  long,  and  the  sun 
is  rising,"  she  said.  "  Mother,  oh  !  mother, 
do  you  hear  ?"  Then  she  began  to  sing  in 
her  soft,  sweet,  melancholy  voice,— 

"I  want  to  b*e  an  angel, 

And  with  the  angels  stand, 
A  crown  upon  my  forehead, 

A  harp  within  my  hand. 
There  right  before  ray  Saviour, 

So  glorious  and  so  bright, 
I'd  wake  the  sweetest  music, 

And  praise  him  day  and  night." 

"I  hear  them  answer,  mother;  oh, 
mother !  Nellie  !  do  you  hear  them,  now  ?" 

Dick's  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears,  but 
he  brushed  them  away  with  his  coat-sleeve 
and  glanced  over  the  room. 

The   young  lady,    Nellie,  was   sobbing 


JENNIE.  237 

aloud,  but  the  mother's  face  was  buried  in 
the  bed-clothes. 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  said  the  gruff-looking 
old  doctor,  and  Dick  saw  how  the  tears 
were  chasing  each  other  down  his  rough 
cheeks ;  and  a  heart-rending  moan  broke 
from  the  lips  which  were  smothered  in  the 
bed-clothes. 

"  Oh,  come  and  be  an  angel, 
For  Heaven  is  so  bright," 

warbled  the  little  weak  voice. 

"Poor  thing,"  said  the  gruff  old  doctor 
again,  and  Dick  heard  another  sob  from 
the  mother. 

The  tears  welled  up  in  his  eyes  again, 

until  he  could  not  see ;  something  swelled 
in  his  throat,  choking  him  ;  he  could  bear 
it  no  longer,  but  turned  and  crept  down 
stairs,  softly  through  the  hall  to  the  door, 
and  out  into  the  street. 

Many  wondered  that  night  to  see  that 


238  NO   BABY  IN  THE   HOUSE. 

ragged  boy  crying  bitterly  as  he  tramped 
toward  home,  and  wondered  what  he  had 
done. 

The  next  night,  when  the  young  lady 
came  to  the  door,  there  was  a  smile  on  her 
lip  though  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  as 
she  said, — 

u  Jennie  is  better,  Dick,  she  will  get  well 


now." 


And  then,  how  strange  it  was,  Dick 
cried  again,  harder  than  ever,  on  his  way 
home. 

One  night,  when  he  took  his  flowers, 
Nellie  said  to  him,— 

"  Come  in,  Dick,  and  bid  Jennie  <  Good- 
bye,' for  she  is  going  down  in  the  country 
to-morrow  to  get  strong  and  well  again." 

So  Dick  saw  Jennie  once  more  ;  she  was 
lying  on  a  heap  of  pillows,  and  changed 
very  much,  she  was  so  pale  and  thin. 

u  Good-bye,  Dick,"  she  said,  in  little  more 


.JKNNIE.  239 

tli  an  a  whisper, — for  Jennie's  voice  was 
very  weak  now, — "  thank  you  for  those 
pretty  flowers.  I  will  love  violets  now 
more  than  ever :"  and  she  smiled  and  held 
out  her  hand. 

Poor  Dick  took  it  awkwardly, — that 
little  white  hand,  and  said  "  Grood-bye." 

He  never  saw  Jennie  again ;  she  stayed 
in  the  country  so  long,  and  his  father  was 
so  hard ;  so  many  evil  ways  were  open  to 
him,  and  there  was  no  one  to  say  to  him 
"  Nay,"  so  he  went  back  to  his  evil  ways, 
and  was  killed  at  last,  over  a  gambling 
table. 

But  we  know  that  dear  merciful  Father 
will  judge  him  tenderly  ;  He  will  remem- 
ber the  hard  paths  that  he  walked,  and  the 
many  temptations  which  beset  him. 

And  may  be  Jennie's  voice  will  be  heard 
before  the  great  Throne,  pleading  for 
mercy  and  forgiveness  for  the  poor  sinner ; 


240  N0  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

we  know  that  her  dear  earnest  voice  will 
be  heard,  for  we  know  that  truly  God 
loveth  her. 


THE    END. 


